Gossip Girl
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: A group of celebrities -- including Christian and Leslie -- go to war with a notorious gossip columnist. Follows 'Photo Finish'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _This one will conveniently segué into the story that will follow, so with some luck I'll produce and post chapters a little faster. Here's the first one to get you started. Thanks as always to the "regulars"!

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§ § § -- December 14, 2005

On a quiet Wednesday a couple of weeks before Christmas, Christian dropped in at his office to keep an appointment with a wealthy customer who wanted him to design and post a genealogical website for his family. Leslie was at work with Roarke, of course, and the triplets were at home with Ingrid; other than that they had begun ascertaining what to pack for their upcoming trip to Lilla Jordsö for Rudolf's wedding to Louisa Karlsen, there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.

So Christian, having exchanged greetings and various kinds of news, both personal and business-related, with his employees, was hunched over the work arm of his desk, intent on sketching some preliminary ideas for his client, when the bell over the door jangled and everyone looked up to see who'd set it off. The newcomer was a man who appeared to be in his late thirties or thereabouts, attired in a business suit, with his sandy-blond hair looking unnaturally neat, as if he'd just come out of the barbershop. "Mawnin', all," he said, glancing around the large office. "Is Prince Christian in?"

Christian sat up and volunteered, "Yes, I am. What can I do for you?"

The fellow brightened and took the chair that Christian kept on the other side of the work arm. "My name's Ben Kellah-rye'm from Boston, Mass. I'm he-uh-ron a vacation, but I sawr this place walking through the squay-ah and thought I'd drop in." His heavy Boston accent made Christian wonder whether he should call Leslie in to translate; the R's in his words were all but nonexistent.

"Mass?" Christian echoed blankly.

"Massachusetts," Keller said and grinned, extending a hand to be shaken. Christian smiled and accepted it. "Uh…befo-rye go on…should I call you Yaw Highness?"

Christian's smile grew into a weary chuckle. "Frankly, I'd prefer 'Mr. Enstad'. I suspect you would as well. You know, my wife would probably have a field day listening to you talk. She's originally from Connecticut."

Ben Keller laughed. "I've gotten mawr'n a few funny looks since I got he-uh. Guess y'don't get too many Boston accents around these pahts. Well, anyway. I hope I don't seem too presumptuous, Mistuh-renstad." Christian blinked at the way Keller ran the "mister" into his surname, turning it almost into one word, and began to seriously contemplate picking up the phone and dialing the main house to get Leslie over here. "But I've noticed yaw one of the best computuh-rexperts goin', and to tell you the truth, I've been hoping faw-ra long time to have a chance to wuhk with you, aw-rat least faw you. I've done pretty well faw myself, owned a few businesses around Greatuh Boston, and I think I can help you get a foothold they-uh. You think maybe we could talk awhile, ovuh lunch, say?"

_Only if I can bring in Leslie to act as interpreter,_ Christian thought irreverently, and had to squelch a grin. It had been just about a year now since he'd gotten the Santi Arcuros branch of Enstad Computer Services up and running, and he'd actually had no plans to expand since then. He'd figured four branches was enough for a single owner; he was afraid that if he set up any more franchises, he'd have to get a partner, and that idea didn't appeal to him at all. He knew Leslie would probably object too, because of the habits he practiced in the course of hiring new employees. On the other hand, she might be less upset when she found out the location of the latest projected branch. "Well," Christian mused, "I don't know about lunch. I usually eat with my wife and father-in-law."

"Maybe we could do suppah, then," Keller offered eagerly. "That'd give me time to get my pawtfolio togethuh so you can look at it and decide faw y'self. What say?"

Christian slowly sat back in his chair and peered at Keller curiously. "What exactly do you do for a living, Mr. Keller? You said you've owned businesses around Boston, but what services did they provide?"

"Computuh services, like yaws," Keller said. "I'm pretty knowledgeable about 'em. I know yaw company catuhs to a high-end mahket, and I can scout out the best locations in the wealthi-uh pahts of town…" Christian listened, beginning to zone out slightly, while the man carried on for a couple of minutes. Finally he raised a hand.

"Forgive me, but you've caught me very much off guard. I really had no plans to expand the company any further, and I'd much prefer to discuss this with my wife. Why don't we make plans to meet for lunch tomorrow?" he suggested.

Keller nodded enthusiastically. "That'd be great," he said. "Thanks much, Mistuh-renstad. 'Preciate it." He shook Christian's hand again, then got up and left the office, while the prince watched him go, feeling a little broadsided.

At the main house for lunch a few hours later, he wasn't remotely surprised when Leslie noticed his preoccupied demeanor. "What's wrong, my love?" she asked.

Christian hesitated a moment, glancing past her. "Where's Mr. Roarke?"

"He's on the phone," she said. "He'll be out in a minute. Something happened to you this morning, didn't it?"

He sighed and nodded. "I had an unexpected visitor at the office." He went on to tell her about Ben Keller and his unorthodox proposal for opening a branch of the business in Boston or its environs. He smiled faintly when Leslie brightened with surprise at mention of the locale, but it wasn't long before she was frowning.

"Just like that, he wants to do business?" she asked after contemplating his narrative for a minute or two. "He sounds pretty brash to me. So you're saying all he did is just walk right on in, and run his mouth for a few minutes, without providing the least bit of proof that he really is a business owner?"

"Was," Christian corrected with a shrug, and nodded. "He claims to have a portfolio that he plans to show me tomorrow at lunch."

Leslie sat up straight. "You mean you didn't brush him off? Oh, Christian!"

Christian threw his hands into the air. "Truly, Leslie, I'm no happier about it than you are, but then again, I don't know anything about the man. I intend to do some extensive background checking on him within the next twenty-four hours. He may just be overeager to do business with me, and that would explain his apparent lack of professionalism. But I didn't dwell on it too much. I had that appointment, after all."

Leslie nodded. "I know, how'd that go?"

"It looks very promising, and I think I'm going to really enjoy creating this site," said Christian with a smile. "He's managed to trace his family back some eight or nine generations, which isn't easy to do, and it's going to keep me busy for quite some time."

"He knows we're going to Lilla Jordsö for New Year's, of course," Leslie said quizzically. Christian rolled his eyes and she shrugged. "Just checking."

"Believe me, Leslie, my customers are fully aware of who I am and what my obligations are as a result," Christian said a little testily. He just had time to register her look of startled hurt when Roarke came out to join them. "We'll talk about this later."

Roarke looked at him askance, taking his usual chair. "You present the appearance of a man with a great deal on his mind, Christian," he observed.

Christian merely shrugged a shoulder, but Leslie supplied, "Some guy from Boston who's here on vacation just walked right into Christian's office and practically begged him to open another branch of his business in the Boston area somewhere. No phone call, no prior appointment, no material to back up his claims."

"Is that really what has you so indignant?" Roarke asked indulgently, eyeing his daughter with the bare specter of a smile. "Or is it the fear that this person may prove to be legitimate, thus talking your husband into setting up another branch of his company and leaving you and the children for at least a month in order to carry this out?"

Leslie, looking caught out, compressed her lips and gave him a reproachful look, but Roarke noticed that she didn't extend the look to Christian. "Well, there's always that."

Roarke chuckled. "As I thought. Well, that's entirely up to the two of you, but if I might be so presumptuous as to contribute my opinion, I believe I am aware of the identity of the man you're speaking of. Benjamin Keller?"

Christian and Leslie both looked at him in open-mouthed surprise. "Yes, as a matter of fact, that's him," Christian said. "Do you know anything about him?"

"He's spending this week here on vacation," Roarke said. "He has just sold a very prosperous business in a suburb of his hometown, and has let it be known that he's looking to build another such operation 'from the ground up', as he says. You may consider Ben Keller to be quite honest and up-front—if, indeed, you're at all interested in his offer."

Christian looked thoughtful. "Perhaps. I had meant to have him checked out, but your testimonial goes a long way, Mr. Roarke."

"I appreciate the confidence, but I believe you'll feel better if you do look into his background." At that point Roarke paused and looked around to where a woman was strolling across the veranda toward their table, looking as if she had all the time on earth. "Yes, Mrs. Baines, what may I do for you?"

"I do hope I'm not intruding," said the woman in an obsequious tone of voice that had both Christian and Leslie doubting the sincerity of her words. "I just wanted to make a request, Mr. Roarke—is it possible to rent a laptop computer for the week?"

"Of course," Roarke replied with a smile. "My son-in-law can arrange for that for you; he does this frequently for our guests." Christian had started this service during the summer, and it had proven to be an excellent source of extra revenue for him.

"Just let me know where it should be delivered," said Christian. "I have only to call the electronics shop on the next island, and they'll bring it right to your door."

"I'm in the Lilac Bungalow," the woman said, straightening the skirt of her expensive and well-tailored suit. She also wore a matching blazer over a ruffled blouse, and her pumps were plain with low heels, but clearly made from Italian leather. She had painstakingly coifed gray hair and wore a pair of half-round glasses attached to a gold chain. "I appreciate the time and effort."

"I'm glad to help," Christian replied with a strictly professional smile that left his hazel eyes cold. "If you need anything else, just let us know."

"I certainly will," the woman said with a peculiar little smirk and a pair of meaningfully raised eyebrows. "Mr. Roarke." With a nod, she turned and departed.

"Why in the world does that woman leave me feeling I'd better watch my back?" Christian asked ominously, eyeing Leslie as if she knew.

"I don't know her," Leslie protested, staring at him.

"She is a vacationing guest," Roarke said tranquilly. "She's here under the name Baines, but you might know her better as Barbara Verdon."

Leslie pulled in a breath and Christian's face instantly morphed into an outraged mask. Together they demanded, "The gossip columnist?"

"The very same," said Roarke as Mariki came out with her serving cart.

"And you say she's here on vacation?" Christian went on, his voice frigid. "Yet she wants a laptop, and judging from her expression just before she walked out of here, she knows perfectly well who I am. Whatever happened to my privacy?"

"As I said," Roarke reminded him sternly, "she is here on vacation. What she chooses to do with that vacation is entirely her business. If you are that upset by her presence, my dear Christian, then I can only suggest that you do your utmost to avoid her."

"So easy to say," Christian muttered. "There goes the rest of my week." Roarke and Leslie eyed him for a moment; he quirked a brow at them and then began to help himself to the various dishes Mariki had just begun setting out.

§ § § -- December 17, 2005

By Saturday morning Christian and Leslie were barely speaking to each other; it was plain to Roarke from the look on his daughter's face that she was upset and angry. Pausing on the porch as they usually did before going to meet the plane, he asked dryly, "Will you be able to concentrate on your job this weekend, young lady?"

"I'll do just fine, thanks," Leslie replied curtly.

Roarke gave her a remonstrative look. "Whatever's on your mind now, I'll thank you not to take it out on me," he said, but he spoke gently.

She sighed and cast him an apologetic look. "I honestly don't know who to blame it on. Christian's found out that Ben Keller's legitimate, and he's actually interested enough in expanding into Boston that he's begun seriously talking with the guy. Another six or eight weeks away from home, that's all it means to me. But then I was doing my usual rounds yesterday, and Camille caught me in town and showed me Barbara Verdon's latest gossipfest in the _L.A. Times_. Apparently she overheard more of our conversation on Wednesday than we thought. Her column suggests Christian makes a habit of abandoning his family to devote all his time and attention to his business."

"Isn't that what you are obliquely implying yourself, with your disapproval of Christian's possible new business venture?" Roarke asked pointedly. "You can't have it both ways, Leslie. You can't be angry with Christian for considering another expansion, and then be angry with Barbara Verdon for drawing the conclusions she has."

"Oh yes I can," Leslie retorted as the car drew up. "I'm a woman. Men think we're illogical as it is. I might as well live down to that expectation." Roarke laughed, a little reluctantly, and shook his head, ushering her down to the rover.

At the plane dock they welcomed a couple whose daughter wanted to meet Santa Claus in person so that she could be sure her Christmas wishes were granted, "for once in her life," as Roarke quoted the child's letter. Then a group of five well-known faces emerged from the plane's hatch and stepped out, one by one, gathering at the end of the dock before starting down the ramp together. "I presume you recognize these people."

"Oh, absolutely," said Leslie, eyes wide, week's animosity momentarily forgotten. "Toni Karlsen, the actress; Karsten Henning, the musician; Elin Kristel Granath, the singer; Joy Foster, the singer; and Marcolo Bartolomé, the prince."

Roarke chuckled. "Indeed so. And they all have the same fantasy, which I am sure both you and Christian will identify closely with. They are completely fed up with the lies and fabrications printed in tabloids and newspapers, and wish to turn the tables on those who perpetuate these stories. Or, failing that, on one person in particular."

A sense of foreboding welled up within Leslie and she turned to him, guessing, "Don't tell me. The particular person in question is Barbara Verdon, who of course is already here on the island, wreaking more of her havoc."

"Precisely," Roarke said. "Unfortunately, they may find that revenge isn't all it's made out to be." He aimed a look at her, then accepted his glass of champagne and raised it in the famous toast: "My dear guests! I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- December 17, 2005

About ninety minutes later the same five celebrities gathered in the study at the main house: Toni Karlsen, an Oscar-winning actress whose youngest sister Louisa was about to become Christian's nephew Rudolf's wife; Karsten Henning, the perpetually cheerful, outgoing drummer for the popular and venerable Norwegian band Midnight Sun; Elin Kristel Granath, a singer from Sweden who had started out in a group with her cousin and a number of friends as a teenager and was now an internationally acclaimed solo star; Joy Foster, who with a cousin and her three sisters had come to Fantasy Island nine years before with a dream of becoming a success, and had long since achieved it with her group the Foster Sisters; and Prince Marcolo of Arcolos, the youngest of King Errico's three children by his long-dead first wife, twenty-two years old and already carrying a well-established reputation as a playboy even at his tender age. They recognized Leslie, of course, since all of them had been to the island before; and they exchanged greetings and pleasantries for a few minutes. Leslie felt herself among a group of peers somehow, for Toni Karlsen, Elin Kristel Granath and Joy Foster were all the same age she was. Karsten Henning was a couple of years older; being single, he pretended to leer at the women, who took it good-naturedly. Leslie teased him that he was lucky Christian wasn't there to witness his antics, and Karsten laughed and assured her that he wasn't about to cross royalty in any way.

When Roarke came in through the French shutters, the group greeted him in unison, and everyone settled down around the tea table while Mariki served beverages. Once they were all comfortable, Roarke opened with, "So I understand you are all here to obtain some manner of…shall we say, remuneration for unkind rumors and innuendo circulated by gossip columnists—from the columnists themselves."

"That," said Karsten Henning in his charming accent that sounded so much like Christian's, "may be more fantasy than even you can grant, Mr. Roarke, considering just how many such columnists there are out there." He grinned his irrepressible grin, and Roarke chuckled. "Well, the five of us were in Arcolos for a film and music festival being sponsored by King Errico, and we started talking. Naturally, the subject of tabloids and gossips came up, and since we live in different countries, we began comparing notes."

"Exactly," said Toni Karlsen, still very pretty at forty, her voice carrying the bare hint of a New England twang; Leslie remembered reading that she had been born in Massachusetts. "And we came up with a common denominator—Barbara Verdon. That woman's been the scourge of the entertainment industry for at least two decades now. She reported all over the world that I had twin daughters, even though I wanted to keep them secret, so they wouldn't be constantly followed by prying eyes."

"Verdon is forever bringing up an affair I had almost twenty years ago," said Karsten, his usually cheery face uncharacteristically serious now, even annoyed. "And she persists in suggesting, every time I emerge from a failed relationship, that that affair is the reason for it—that I want to go back to that woman."

Elin Kristel Granath cleared her throat. Even prettier than Toni Karlsen in a delicate porcelain-doll way, she had clear blue eyes and shining blonde hair that curled softly around her face. Her voice was bright and pure even when she was merely speaking; her singing had been compared to the ringing of the finest bells. "I have been working on establishing my career in the United States, and Barbara Verdon insists that I am preparing to leave my husband and children behind in Sweden to move permanently to Los Angeles. This is simply not true, and I truly resent her saying that. Whenever I am in public, someone always asks me about that, and I have to deny it."

"And they probably don't believe it, huh?" said Joy Foster sympathetically. Elin Kristel nodded, and Joy smiled wryly. "Verdon likes to suggest I'm homosexual. I wouldn't have any problem with that if it were true, but it isn't. My cousin and all my sisters are married, and I'm the only single one left in the group. Since I'm the oldest, that apparently throws me under some suspicious light. Verdon keeps wondering why I don't either get married or come out of the closet. The simple truth is, I just plain haven't met the right guy yet. But I guess that's not flashy enough, or controversial enough, for her."

"I see," said Roarke, and turned to the young prince, who had sat in silence thus far. "And what of you, Your Highness?"

Prince Marcolo scowled. "You may or may not be aware that my father is hoping that my older brother and I will be married soon—following our sister's decidedly hasty example this past spring." He glanced at Leslie, who grinned at the memory of Princess Adriana's overnight romance and wedding with Christian's nephew, Roald. "I think this Barbara Verdon is all for that. My brother has been seeing a very suitable woman for a few months now, and my father is very hopeful. But I'm only twenty-two years old. Why is everyone in such a hurry for me to marry? It's Paolono who will inherit the throne, not I. His need to marry is far more imperative than mine. I shall marry when I find the right woman—exactly, Miss Foster, as you are waiting for the right man—and not before. And how else am I to find that 'right woman' unless I look for her?"

"Logical," said Karsten Henning, his customary grin back in place.

"Thank you," said Marcolo. "Now if only this Barbara Verdon had the sense that you do. I must meet many different women, get to know them enough to find out if I would be compatible with one of them. Which, of course, means that I must date them at least a few times before I know. Yet now I have a reputation for being a faithless playboy—a reputation invented entirely by Barbara Verdon." He turned to Roarke. "I ask you, Mr. Roarke, how can such a cold, vindictive woman gain worldwide recognition for spreading her poison so that everyone in the world can read it, believe it, and denounce me for it?"

"I couldn't have said it any better myself, Your Highness," remarked Toni Karlsen.

"Me either," agreed Joy Foster, who peered curiously at Leslie. "You can't tell me you haven't escaped her evil eye yourself. Even if you weren't married to a Jordsonian prince, you still have a pretty high profile, being Mr. Roarke's assistant in this place that's so famous and so popular. So come on, what's your beef with her?"

Leslie sighed heavily. "Okay, you caught me." Their guests laughed, and she grinned reluctantly. "You're aware that Christian's business has four different branches—in Sundborg, London, Santi Arcuros and here. Now he's been approached about opening a new one in Boston, and he's actually interested." She hesitated, seeing the others' nods—with the exception of Roarke, who simply listened with an expressionless face. "It's caused problems between us, but that isn't the issue. Verdon picked up on it, and now she says Christian habitually deserts me and our children so he can flit off to exotic locales to open new franchises and throw himself into the business. After all, he spends at least a month away when he's setting up a new office, because he likes to personally hire the people who work for him. Next thing you know, she's probably going to suggest he's got a woman in every port—at least, in every port where Enstad Computer Services has an office."

"I wouldn't put it past her," Toni said, shaking her head. "That woman can take the most innocent thing and blow it up into the scandal of the century."

"So what we want, anyway," said Joy Foster, "is to take that woman down a few notches. We want her to see how much pain and anger her lies are causing."

"And the only way to do that," Karsten added, "is to show her."

Roarke leaned forward. "How exactly do you intend to do so? Before I agree or disagree to grant your collective fantasy, I must warn you that too often, revengeful schemes backfire on their instigators. There may be temporary satisfaction in seeing that your message has hit home…but almost invariably, there are repercussions, whether they be of large or small import. At the very least, you will cause the same pain and suffering you decry in Barbara Verdon." He eyed Leslie meaningfully. "And I believe, my dear daughter, that your mother would have called such tactics 'sinking to their level'."

Leslie slouched a little in her seat and grumbled grudgingly, "Yeah, okay, she would. But there's one thing you need to understand, Father. Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire, if you'll allow me to coin a cliché."

Roarke raised an eyebrow, then took in the entire group. "It seems to me that, for the most part, these rumors are relatively minor matters."

"They are minor, Mr. Roarke," said Marcolo haughtily, "because they are not happening to you!"

At that everyone laughed, even the young prince, a couple of beats late. "Well, he's right," said Joy Foster. "Either our publicist is working overtime trying to squelch this junk, or I myself have to confront the question when I'm out in public."

"It's a pain in the butt and a waste of time," Toni added heatedly. "I suppose you have to expect a certain amount of this foolishness when you're famous, but it's another thing when these people make a living out of it—and worse, thrive on it! My agent knows where Verdon lives, and she pointed out her house to me once. It's bigger than the house in Hawaii where I live now, and I'm not exactly in a three-room shack."

"Anyway," said Leslie, "if something isn't done about her now while she's churning out 'minor' rumors, they're likely to become major ones in the future."

Karsten said, "I don't want to seem pushy, Mr. Roarke, but I think I speak for us all when I say I insist you grant us our shared fantasy." Heads nodded all around.

Roarke was silent for just a few seconds, glancing swiftly at each face in turn, without leaving out Leslie's; then he nodded once and said, "As you wish. Before my daughter sees fit to remind me, I would like to extend invitations to all of you at a Christmas party for our celebrity guests, at a nightclub in town." The group accepted, and he continued, "Leslie, since you so closely identify with this fantasy, I will put you in charge of it. However, if anything happens that is beyond your ability to resolve, by all means come to me."

"I will," said Leslie. "Thanks, Father." He nodded once more, with a mere hint of a smile; she smiled back, then turned to their guests. "Well, if you'll all come with me, I'll show you to your respective bungalows. See you in a while, Father."

"Don't feel you must return immediately, Leslie," Roarke replied with a knowing look. She shrugged agreement and led the group out the door; from there she had little trouble distributing them to their assorted bungalows. But before she could leave Karsten Henning behind at his, he caught her at the door.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Enstad…or should that be Your Highness, as with Prince Marcolo?" he asked with a grin.

She laughed. "Christian and I aren't formal here at home. If you prefer 'Mrs. Enstad', that's okay, but usually the guests around my age or so just call me Leslie. You can too, if you want to."

Karsten nodded. "Leslie, then. It sounded as if Mr. Roarke didn't need you right away, so I thought maybe you'd have some time to talk with me."

"I'd be glad to," said Leslie.

"Great. Why don't you come sit in here and we'll be able to speak in privacy. To tell you the truth, I could go for a good-sized homemade breakfast, but I don't want to try to explain my position over a table in a crowded restaurant."

"Oh, that's no problem, I'll call for room service for you," Leslie offered. "What would you like for that breakfast of yours?"

Karsten gave her his order and she placed it; then she settled in a plush chair while he took the sofa and sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees and studying her. "I'm curious about something," he said after a moment. "How much of your fame is your own, and how much is due to your being Prince Christian's wife?"

Leslie, a little startled, tried to figure it out for a moment. "Well, I had some fame before I met Christian," she said slowly. "Just from being Father's daughter and assistant, you know, but not all that much. Father has a bigger profile than I do, if you discount the fact that I married into royalty. And anyway, so many of our guests ask me if they have to call me 'Your Highness', I've resigned myself to the fact that to most of the world I'm Princess Leslie of Lilla Jordsö. So I guess there's your answer."

"So you were never bothered by anyone prior to marrying Prince Christian, then," said Karsten, nodding slowly a couple of times.

"Oh, well, somebody in Lilla Jordsö recognized me once," Leslie said and grinned with the memory. "I was traveling in that country before I met Christian and I ate at a little café in the capital, and someone realized who I was after I explained where I came from. But that's the only time that ever happened. So, uh…why do you ask?"

Karsten looked away and cleared his throat. "I just wasn't sure how much of a veteran of the fame business you might be. Of course, royalty's one thing—especially when they're as respected and circumspect as Prince Christian is. Entertainers are something else. We're always fair game, no matter how well we behave ourselves. And I'll admit that I wasn't the best-behaved entertainer who ever lived." He grinned, and Leslie chuckled, admiring the fact that he was willing to poke fun at himself. "After all, I'm a rock star, and you know what's usually expected of us. It's not as if I ever wanted to be anything else—Gaute and I, that's Gaute Kaggestad, we've known each other since we could barely talk, and we've been best friends pretty much all our lives. We both always had this same ambition, to be rock stars. So when we hit it big with Midnight Sun, we took advantage."

"I don't recall ever hearing about you guys getting into any scandals," Leslie said.

"No, we never went that far. We were raised by sensible parents, so we're pretty grounded, as rock stars go. We aren't the kind to tear apart hotel rooms and throw television sets out windows or invite groupies backstage at every concert. For that matter, Gaute's happily married, and groupies make him nervous. Same with Kåre, he's our lead singer, and even Magne isn't too thrilled about them. Me…" He shrugged and grinned again, looking decidedly sheepish. "In the beginning Gaute and I did kind of let it go to our heads a little. We both took some advantage of the willing females. But after Gaute got involved with his wife, he quit that scene in a hurry. I kept at it, off and on, for a few years, and then I realized it was too dangerous. And it had ruined a couple of relationships.

"Anyway, I'm going to try to make a long story short here. You'll remember that I said Barbara Verdon continues to bring up an affair I had many years ago…" Leslie nodded, and he sighed and seemed to slump where he sat, his head hanging. "What I didn't say was that that affair was with Toni Karlsen."

"Oh?" said Leslie, surprised and curious, but restraining herself.

Karsten nodded without looking up. "I…" Just then there was a knock on the door, and Leslie got up to answer it; it was a hotel employee with Karsten's meal. She let him in and he set it up on the heavy coffee table in front of Karsten, then nodded to Leslie and left. Leslie, watching Karsten filling his plate, was oddly reminded of her initial arrival on the island some three months before she'd turned fourteen, when she'd made short work of a similarly lavish breakfast. For a few minutes Karsten did the same, glancing up just once after the first bite long enough to smile broadly and utter a long "Mmmmmm!" She grinned back, then relaxed and watched him eat.

Finally Karsten paused, having apparently put enough of a dent in his hunger to give her a little more attention. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't realize how hungry I was till those wonderful smells reached my nose, and then I got single-minded."

Leslie laughed. "No problem. I've got plenty of time, so don't feel as if you have to rush on my account."

Karsten smiled, ate another bite and resettled himself in his seat, putting down his fork and washing down his food with several gulps of orange juice. "All right then. As I said, that affair was with Toni Karlsen."

"I never heard a thing about it," Leslie remarked. "When did it happen?"

"About seventeen years ago—back in 1988. It was during the spring that year, when we were on the set of John Angus Walsh's movie _My Future Love_. Ever see it?"

"Oh, yeah, I did, a couple of times. I thought it was really cute. At the time I was married to my first husband and living in Finland; I saw it about a year and a half before he died, I think. I couldn't read Finnish or Swedish, so the local gossip rags were beyond my reach—that's probably why I never heard about you and her getting together."

"Well, Magne—that is, Magne Heldt, our guitarist—was in the movie, as her co-star, and I suppose most would have thought she'd hook up with him, but it was me. She had a run-in with a bad-seed fan, and sort of looked to me for some comfort; we became friends after that. It just happened naturally from there. I think we tried to keep it as low-key as we could, so there wouldn't be a lot of talk. But maybe there was."

"How do you mean?" Leslie asked.

"I fell in love with Toni, but the reverse didn't happen, and it was a painful breakup for me. I wanted to know why she thought she couldn't feel anything for me, and that was when she told me about her little girls, the twins. They were about four at the time, if I remember right, and nobody outside Toni's family and friends knew they existed. She told me about them only on the condition that I'd keep the secret. Unfortunately, between the end of shooting and the film's premiere, the revelation that she was a single mother came out—gleefully revealed in Barbara Verdon's column."

"Oh wow," Leslie exclaimed softly, shaking her head. "And she automatically suspected you, right?"

Karsten shrugged and said heavily, "I honestly don't know. I saw her briefly at the movie premiere, but we barely spoke to each other. I was still hurting too much, and she probably didn't want to give me the idea that she was interested. After that, we never saw each other again—until that film festival in Arcolos. We were never in touch, nothing."

Leslie frowned, trying to put together pieces that seemed to belong to completely different puzzles. "Okay. So what would make Verdon harp on that affair every time word came out that you'd broken up with someone? Did you threaten her or anything?"

"Oh, I wanted to," Karsten admitted with a laugh. "When Toni's single-motherhood first came out, the other guys looked at me funny, even Gaute. They really thought I'd gone so low as to reveal Toni's twins in retaliation for the failed love affair. I told them that if they believed that, there was no point in my staying with the group anymore. Fortunately for us all, they came to their senses." He saw Leslie's confusion and explained, "You see, when Toni told me about her kids, we were alone in my hotel room."

"Oh," murmured Leslie, frowning.

"I told our manager I wanted to get in touch with that woman and blast her for telling the secret and implying that I leaked it, but he pointed out that Verdon's column didn't name any sources—and we all know she isn't above doing that if the source is someone famous. He told me not to rock the boat any further. She hadn't mentioned my name, he said, and that must have meant some nobody fed her the tidbit. I figure it was probably a member of Walsh's movie crew for _My Future Love_. But ever since then, I've never stopped wondering if Toni still blames me for telling her secret, because to the best of both our knowledge, no one else could have possibly overheard her telling me."

"However they found out, it stands to reason that the same person who told Verdon about Toni's twins also told her the story of your affair with her," Leslie suggested.

Karsten nodded. "It makes sense. I drew that conclusion myself a long time ago. At any rate, I just wanted you to understand my position on this thing. I can't make any amends with Toni now. It's been there so long, I don't think a mere apology or denial is going to erase it. But that's the reason I want to see Barbara Verdon get a taste of her own medicine. You can understand that, I hope."

"I do understand," she assured him. "If it were me, I'd've wanted to see some blood flowing too. But my advice would be not to bring it up with Toni, unless she mentions it to you. After all, she's married to their father now, so if she wants to let it lie, you may have to resign yourself to living with the knowledge that you weren't the leaky mouth."

"Mmmm, I see what you mean. Well, thank you for listening to me in any case. It felt good to talk about it with someone who would understand." Karsten grinned at her. "And listen, you can tell Prince Christian for me that he's one very lucky man, and I hope he knows it."

_I hope so too,_ Leslie found herself thinking. "I'll tell him," she said with a small smile. "Thanks, Karsten…enjoy the rest of your breakfast."

She left Karsten's bungalow with the vague urge to get into town, find Christian, and have a long talk with him; but before she could decide whether to act on it, she was waylaid in front of another bungalow a couple of doors down from Karsten's. "Excuse me, Leslie? Or is that 'Your Highness'?" called Toni Karlsen from her doorway.

Resigned, Leslie veered down the walk toward the Plumeria Bungalow. "Just Leslie, if you don't mind. We do the prince-and-princess thing only in Lilla Jordsö."

"Gotcha," said Toni and chuckled. "I apologize, you must hear that a thousand times a month. Call me Toni, then. Listen, do you have some time? I'd like to talk to you."

"Sure," Leslie agreed, already getting the feeling that she was going to hear Toni's side of the affair with Karsten Henning. And she did, listening while Toni told her how she and Karsten had fallen together and had quite a passionate relationship for the few weeks they had been in England shooting _My Future Love_, all those years before.

"I don't really know what happened," Toni said thoughtfully. "It's just that I always missed Michael. I guess he's the love of my life, and no matter how hard I tried—and believe me, for a couple or three years, I did try—I couldn't find anybody else to fill that hole he had left in my heart. But I liked Karsten very much, and I still do."

Leslie stared at her for a moment after she stopped talking, and Toni looked back, a curious expression slowly shaping her face while she waited for Leslie to comment. Finally Leslie drew in a deep breath. "Toni…I might be going over the line with this question. But, um…how did you feel about him after Barbara Verdon revealed the existence of your girls?"

Toni blinked in surprise. "Why do you ask?"

"Well…" Leslie swallowed, then took the plunge. "Karsten told me he still wonders if you blame him for the secret's getting out."

For a second Toni simply sat there with her mouth open; then she jutted her head forward and gaped at Leslie. "He does?"

"That's what he says. He told me it was just you and him in a hotel room, and that no one else could possibly have heard."

"Well, he's right," Toni said, her gaze disengaging and her fingertips drumming in mid-air as she considered. "Logically he _would've_ been the one to leak the secret. But I never believed he did it. I got to know him and the rest of Midnight Sun during the shooting, and they all four were terrific guys—down-to-earth, funny and friendly, just nice guys right to the core." She shrugged in bewilderment. "I don't know how it got out. I can't explain it any more than he can. All I can think is that there must've been someone eavesdropping, maybe from one of the rooms on either side of us, or through the door. But when it came out and someone called my attention to it, and suggested Karsten must've tattled, I shot it down right away. I knew him well enough to know that he'd keep the promise he made to me not to tell." She paused then, her gaze losing focus again. "He said Verdon keeps resurrecting an old affair he had, every time he breaks up with a woman. Did he mean…ours?"

"Yeah," said Leslie. "He just told me all about it."

Toni stilled, gawking, then laughed, rolling her eyes at herself. "I should've known. It must be Murphy's Law or something. Poor guy. If he's been wondering about that all this time, I really ought to put him out of his misery."

Leslie laughed too, feeling oddly relieved. "I think it'd do a lot for his peace of mind. In any case, I guess you were going to tell me next about how your secret got leaked before that movie was released, and how you wanted Barbara Verdon's head to roll."

"Geez, you really are Mr. Roarke's daughter, aren't you," Toni remarked and broke into laughter again. "It just figures."

"It was a perfectly logical conclusion to draw," Leslie protested, grinning. "In case you forgot, I'm just adopted. The only reason I'm any good at this job is learning from him, over a lot of years, and being his assistant for the last fifteen. I said that because, remember, you told Father back at the main house that that's your beef with Verdon."

Toni nodded and said, "Power of observation, huh? Okay. Well, anyway, I had good reasons for protecting my daughters. Michael had unknowingly left me pregnant, and when I made it in movies, I was determined to keep Justine's and Jenny's lives as normal as I could, given the circumstances. I went to a lot of trouble to do that. I'd farm them out to my mother and stepfather, or my sister, whenever I had interviews. If the interview was at my place, I'd close the door to their bedroom so no one could see the toys and dolls and the ruffled bedspreads and so on, and do a fast cleanup so there was no evidence of little girls in the house." Leslie nodded understanding, and Toni went on, "The whole masquerade was torpedoed at the premiere of _My Future Love_. My whole family showed up with me because it was my first major movie—my big break. We had to bring the twins, and we were going to pass them off as my cousin's kids, because my sister wasn't married yet. But at the party, my stepfather showed me the _L.A. Times_ column where Verdon told the world about Justine and Jenny. I couldn't believe it—I was just plain livid."

Leslie nodded. "I can just imagine."

"But I never believed Karsten did it, not even then. If Verdon's sources are famous, she names them. I didn't get a good look at the column that night, but I was able to read it more carefully the next day, and she never once mentioned Karsten's name—so that confirmed my conviction, and I was able to say truthfully that he wasn't the one who talked. Oh my God. If I'd known Karsten was being haunted by that all these years, I'd have cleared it up with him ages ago. I think I'd better do that pronto."

"He'd appreciate that," Leslie said, smiling. "Well, I'd really better get back to work. If you don't mind, I'll leave you to talk to Karsten." _And me to talk to Christian,_ she thought, rising even as the idea crossed her mind. She wanted to get things patched up between them; the tension born of their coolness to each other over the last few days was exhausting her, and she wanted it done away with.

But fate seemed to have other plans in store for her. "Your Highness…I'm sorry, please, do you mind if we talk for a little?" called another voice as she continued on down the lane where the bungalows were situated. This time it was Elin Kristel Granath, the singer from Sweden, and Leslie couldn't simply ignore her. She approached, delivered the usual speech about not being addressed as royalty, and came into the Hibiscus Bungalow, taking a seat while the singer settled down across from her. Leslie liked her; she had a couple of her solo CDs, and despite the woman's oversized talent and stunning beauty, she had the sense that she was in the company of someone with her feet very much on the ground.

"I do want to have a career in the United States," Elin Kristel said, "but it certainly won't be at the expense of my family. It's a horrible thing to say."

Leslie tipped her head aslant and eyed her. "Why would Barbara Verdon suggest such a thing in the first place?"

"She knows the story of a very famous Swedish group," said Elin Kristel, "and what one of its singers did. You see, this lady married very young and had two children by the time she was twenty-one years old. But she desperately wanted to make a career as a singer, and she feared she couldn't do that and be a good mother at the same time. And there were problems between her and her husband anyway. So she moved to Stockholm, alone, and her husband raised the children. She has said before that she regretted the way the decision had to be made, but it was the only way she knew at the time. Recording executives were interested only in her, not in the band she was part of—which included her husband. She wanted to take the chance, and her husband encouraged her, I think." Elin Kristel shrugged. "I am sure she stayed in touch with her children. Anyhow, apparently Barbara Verdon is some kind of bigot. She believes that because I want to make a career for myself in America, I will follow that lady's example and leave my children behind with my husband."

Leslie whistled low. "You're right," she said, "that is bigotry. But if I'm not mistaken, you do have a career in the U.S. You aren't a total unknown there."

"No, but Americans associate me with my former group, Swedenstar. The band split about ten years ago, long after I had left for my solo career, and I took on most of the members as my backing band. Only three decided not to join my entourage—the three who, with me, were the most visible members of the group. Mattias is a gifted songwriter and makes his living that way. Lars decided to become a comedian, the kind who performs in clubs and on television. And Jillian, my cousin, is a very happy wife and mother. Sometimes she sings backup vocals on my records, but except for that, she is retired."

"I see. I presume you're well-known in Europe…"

"Yes, but I'd love to have a career in the states. I think it would just be nice to be able to have some hits there. However, I have no plans to move there. I'm happy in Sweden with my family, and I won't desert them just to get some American hit records. And I am very angry with Barbara Verdon for telling people that I would."

"Angry enough to see her get a taste of her own medicine," Leslie supplied.

"Yes, I am. I don't care how it happens, but somehow she must be made to understand how much anger and hurt and hate she causes."

"Well," said Leslie, feeling a little uneasy, "that's what your fantasy's supposed to be for. I just hope you don't go so far that it eclipses all the suffering she's caused you."

Elin Kristel looked doubtful. "I don't mean I'd like to see her killed or something so terrible as that. Just so that she gets the message. Don't you see?"

Leslie nodded. "I do see, believe me. She's got her sights on my husband now, and I'm not happy with her myself. I just don't want things to blow up in someone's face."

Elin Kristel's face became puzzled at the idiom, but she didn't ask for a translation; she simply nodded once or twice. "I only hope that whatever happens, it's strong enough to make her see the harm she causes."

A few minutes later Leslie slipped out of the bungalow, determined to get into town to corner Christian. _If I can just reach that trail…_ she thought, speeding up her pace without actually breaking into a run. _If I can just…_

"Your Highness…wait, please? I hope you're not due for something important!" This time it was Joy Foster, and Leslie groaned inwardly, stopping a few yards short of the trail. _It's gonna be a long day._ She pasted a smile on her face and retraced her steps toward the Pacific Bungalow, hoping her expression wasn't obviously fake.


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- December 17, 2005

"So this is the thing with Elin Kristel Granath," Leslie was telling Roarke over lunch—without Christian, who had left word with Roarke that he would be eating with Ben Keller again. "Just because this one Swedish singer left her family for her career, Verdon seems to think that Elin Kristel, who's also Swedish and wants to expand her career, would follow the first singer's example. Bigotry."

"Indeed," said Roarke, who had said barely half a dozen words since telling Leslie about Christian's lunch plans; he was very interested in his guests' motives anyway. "You told me you had just come from Joy Foster's bungalow. What of her?"

"Well, she told us this morning that Verdon's suggesting she's a lesbian just because she isn't married," Leslie said, and Roarke nodded. "But that isn't all. Remember nine years ago when she and her group were here to get famous in the first place, and her sister Shara turned out to be hooked on black lightning? Verdon's been hinting that maybe now Joy's the one who's addicted. That's what's really got Joy's temper going. She doesn't care so much about Verdon's opinion of her sexuality, but the drug allegations are just too much for her. So she's got it in for Verdon too."

"I see," Roarke said. "It's understandable that she didn't mention this in front of the others this morning, if she is that sensitive to the issue."

Leslie nodded. "So that just leaves Prince Marcolo, and I have to wonder what hidden problem underlies his anger at her. I guess I'm going to be in for a long chat with him after lunch." She sighed and adjusted Susanna's bib, which had somehow gotten twisted around over the little girl's shoulder.

Roarke, who had been about to probe a little deeper into Joy Foster's problem, caught Leslie's mood and switched tracks for the moment. "Does Christian's absence bother you that much, Leslie?"

She looked up, momentarily astonished that he knew the real reason she was annoyed by their guests' continual (if unintentional) thwarting of her plans; then she said a little incredulously, "Of course it bothers me. I'd have long since gone in and talked to him myself, but I kept getting snagged by all our famous friends. Looks like he's thrown me over for Ben Keller again. And do you realize what that'll look like to Barbara Verdon? She'll have lots of fresh, ripe material for her column."

"It's quite beyond me," Roarke observed, "why you and our guests place so much stock in what Barbara Verdon puts in her column. If you know that what she prints is untrue—and since she has a reputation as a professional gossip—then why the uproar?"

"Because they're hurtful lies," said Leslie. "Father, really, how would you feel if it were happening to you?"

Roarke smiled a little. "Oh, it _has_ happened to me, my dear Leslie, more often than you think. In the early days of my operation, and many times since, I was denounced as a charlatan, a large-scale—and unremarkable—magician, a swindler. And long before I came to this island, I was suspected of everything from simple witchcraft to being an incarnation of Mephistopheles himself. But I never let such foolishness bother me, for I never used my abilities for anything but good, and gradually I gained a reputation for that. Eventually that overrode any gossip that might have tried to circulate."

"Well, you might have that reputation, but you're unique. The rest of us can't claim that distinction, at least not in such an obvious way. Too many people are willing to believe anything they hear or read about famous people, and they seem to especially enjoy believing the bad stuff. What I want to know is, where's the line between malicious gossip and out-and-out libel? How far can Verdon go before she causes enough damage to provide grounds for legal restitution?"

"Perhaps that's something for you, or any of her other targets, to decide. I've begun to feel that it may have been an error on my part to assign you to this fantasy."

"Then take it over yourself," Leslie invited with a shrug. "I know you think I'm too far on the celebrities' side, and maybe you're right. But I might be able to get a more reasonable perspective on it if I could just talk to Christian, and I haven't been able to do that, which has been frustrating the living daylights out of me."

Roarke looked unperturbed. "In that case, I suggest you go to his office immediately after your meal and insist on speaking to him. I must attempt once more to contact Mr. Claus—he's very busy this time of year, as you well know—and I expect it will be quite some time before I can get in touch with him." Then a wry look crossed his features and he added ironically, "Particularly if I am required to do so through Mrs. Claus."

Leslie hastily smothered a giggle and tried to keep her voice even. "I guess she's still upset about your little present to Santa way back when?" Roarke just looked at her, and she laughed after all. "Okay, I'll stop. So what's for dessert? Thought I'd take Christian a peace offering, if there's something especially good."

‡ ‡ ‡

She hesitated on the wooden walk fronting the row of shops on the southern side of the town square, where Christian's office was located, and peered cautiously into the shop window till she saw that he was indeed at his desk, elbow-deep in a computer tower. _Good,_ she thought with relief, and headed for the door, letting herself in.

"Hi, Miss Leslie," said Julianne, lighting up when she saw her. "Haven't seen you in a while. How're the kids?"

"Energetic as ever," said Leslie and grinned ruefully. "Father's talking about introducing them to Santa Claus this weekend."

Julianne snickered at that. "A trip to the Coral Island mall, huh?"

"No," said Leslie without thinking, her mind primarily on Christian, "he's actually trying to get hold of Santa now…if Mrs. Claus even lets him talk to him." She didn't notice Julianne's thunderstruck look, but let her gaze slide towards Christian, who clearly was in another of his periodic computer fugues. "Busy?"

Julianne made a noise in response, but Leslie didn't pay any more attention; instead she sidled over towards Christian's desk. He didn't seem to realize she was there till she sat down at the chair on the other side of his work arm; then he stilled for a second or two before looking up. His face assumed a professionally pleasant expression. "Ah, hello there."

Leslie drew in a deep breath and presented him with a plate covered in plastic cling wrap. "I come bearing gifts. Well, _gift,_ singular, anyway."

Surprise took over Christian's features and he reached for the plate, peeling away the wrap and revealing two wedges of layer cake, glued together with thick chocolate frosting and drizzled on the top with cream-cheese icing. "What's this?"

"Mariki's idea of Boston cream pie," said Leslie with a hopeful little grin. "Thought you might like it." She cleared her throat delicately while Christian chuckled and, in a very unprincely manner, ran a finger through the frosting, popping it into his mouth. "We missed you at lunch," she said softly.

Christian froze again, finger in his mouth, and looked at her; then he relaxed and pulled it out, tugging open the desk drawer at his left and extracting a napkin. "Ah, well…I thought I'd better take advantage. Keller leaves on tomorrow's noon plane." He dug in the drawer, came up empty and asked absently, "Have a fork with you?"

"It's taped to the plastic wrap," said Leslie. "So, uh…what're the plans?"

Christian turned over the wrapping, found the fork and began to work it loose, speaking without looking at her. "I'm going to need a good map of Greater Boston. Keller says he can think of several properties right off the top of his head that might suit my needs. He thinks Newton or Wellesley might work best, but I could do just as well in Lexington or Concord, perhaps Quincy or Avon, maybe even Walburn…"

"Woburn," Leslie corrected. "Or maybe he meant Waltham."

Christian shrugged fleetingly. "It was one of those." The fork came loose and he glanced up. "Strange pronunciations you have there, what was it you said? Woo-burn and Waltham, rhyming with 'Sam'? How do you spell those?"

He had returned his attention to the cake, and Leslie sighed quietly. "You can always look it up on an online map. Well, enjoy your cake." She arose and started for the door, then paused after three or four steps and fired over her shoulder, "And by the way, that's 'Quin-zee', with a Z sound."

"Is that so?" inquired Christian coolly. "Just where are you going? I thought you were interested in my plans, and I've barely begun to talk about them."

She glared at him. "The least you could do is pretend I'm worthy of your full attention while you're talking to me."

"I would have paid full attention to you if you could merely have waited till I'd gotten ready to eat my cake," Christian retorted.

Leslie wilted where she stood and shoved her hands into her pockets. "And this was supposed to be a peace offering, too," she muttered to herself.

"What? Leslie, come over here and sit down," Christian urged, his voice softening. "Talk to me. Something tells me you didn't come over here to listen to me carrying on about expansion plans. Come on, sit."

She gulped the lump in her throat flat and went back to sit again. "Sorry," she said softly. "I don't know, I guess I'm just annoyed. The whole day's gone pretty much the opposite of what I'd been planning."

He gave her an encouraging smile. "What were you planning?"

"I wanted to come over here a lot earlier than this, but I kept getting waylaid all morning. I've discovered that nearly all our celebrity guests have an extra hidden grudge against Barbara Verdon—the only one I haven't talked to yet is Prince Marcolo, and that's only because I finally managed to escape the bungalow area around lunchtime." Christian laughed, and Leslie felt a little better. "I talked to Father about this whole thing over lunch, and he seems to think we're blowing this way out of proportion. I suggested if he was that worried about my perspective on it, then he should take over. But he's too worried about getting hold of Santa Claus."

Christian stilled momentarily, quirked an eyebrow, then seemed to decide to put that subject aside till later. "Do you agree with Mr. Roarke about your perspective?"

Leslie hesitated a second or two before responding; she thought he sounded wary. After a little consideration she admitted, "No, I really don't. I can't keep the proper detachment to this thing, because Verdon's been picking on us too."

Christian's hazel eyes warmed and he reached across to wrap his hands around hers. "I'm glad you can't." At her startled look, he grinned. "I don't mean that so much in relation to your job in general, but to this fantasy especially. My Rose, why do you think they all wanted to talk to you so badly? Married to me as you are, you're in a better position than Mr. Roarke to understand what they're going through. What did he say when you talked to him about it, then?"

She told him about hers and Roarke's conversation over lunch, and he nodded now and then with a thoughtful look, listening carefully. When she finished, he let out a quiet exhalation and released her hands, forking in another bite of cake. Finally he swallowed and observed, "I don't think Mr. Roarke quite understands, despite all he claims to have been through because of his powers over the centuries. I'd go so far as to say he has a thicker skin than the rest of us."

"And a lot more time in which to develop it," Leslie added, and Christian nodded, grinning again. "Well, I wonder what Father's going to say when he finds out we're on one side of this issue and he's on the other. It'll make for an interesting evening meal."

"I'm certain of that," said Christian, laughing aloud. "I look forward to it, to tell you the truth. I never back down from a good argument—just ask Carl Johan and Anna-Laura about all those times I stood up to my father and Arnulf, particularly over an evening meal." Grinning as she snickered, he ate the last of the cake and pushed the plate in her direction. "I don't mean to chase you out, but unfortunately I'm needed in here today. Too many repair jobs waiting to be done. In any case, I've somewhat missed the hands-on work, and I've been enjoying myself in here."

"I bet," Leslie agreed good-naturedly, and then remembered something else. "Oh, before I go, my love…our presence is requested at a celebrity party tonight at the nightclub just outside town. Exclusive entrance—nobody who isn't famous won't be allowed in, unless they report for the _Fantasy Island Chronicle."_

Christian had gone still again, staring at her; now his body seemed to cave in on itself like a spent parachute as he sagged in his chair, and he closed his eyes with a groan. "Oh, no. Not another damned party! If our presence is, uh, _requested_, then let me take this opportunity to refuse."

Leslie smiled reluctantly. "Unfortunately, my love, Father's use of the word _requested_ was purely euphemistic. We have to be there. In my case it's an aspect of my job, but for you…well, frankly, I'm slightly surprised you don't want to present a united front with me and confirm that Verdon's last couple of columns are lies."

Christian snorted and rolled his eyes. "The perfect trap, isn't it! Oh, very well, all right then. But mind you, I'm doing this strictly under duress. And I'll make certain Mr. Roarke knows it, too."

"I'm sure you will," said Leslie comfortably and grinned at him. "Anyway, since you're so busy right now, it'll give us a chance to really talk about what this Ben Keller wants to do for you. Or maybe what he's hoping you'll do for him. I still think he really had a gall, just barging in on you and saying, hey, let's open a branch of your company in Boston!" She paused in mid-rise, aware of Christian's curious gaze on her. "Actually, maybe that's why I'm not in complete, out-and-out rebellion. I mean, at least he picked New England."

Christian burst into laughter. "Mr. Roarke's mentioned several times before that you still have a New England soul somewhere in there, and I can see he's right. Okay, my Leslie Rose, go on and have your talk with Marcolo, and find out what problem he has with that vulture in skirts that he didn't air in front of everyone else this morning. I'm sorry I missed lunch; you'll have to fill me in at some point before the party."

"I will," she promised, feeling far better than she had all day. She leaned over and kissed him; he grasped her shoulders and held her there for an extra few seconds before releasing her and smiling up at her. She smiled back. "I think I can face the rest of the day, knowing we're back to normal again."

"Me too," Christian agreed gently. "But remember that kiss, because tonight I want to pick up where we left off." Leslie nodded willing agreement, and he picked up the plate and handed it to her. "And give Prince Marcolo my greetings."

While Christian and Leslie had been talking, Roarke had received a visitor, right in the middle of his attempts to contact the North Pole. He was a little worried about Heidi Eccles' fantasy; in fact he'd already had a couple of visits from Heidi herself. _Not to mention her extremely skeptical parents,_ he had thought between fruitless tries to reach Santa Claus. But it wasn't Sam and Linda Eccles who worried him. He wanted to fulfill Heidi's fantasy, and that would be singularly difficult to do without the Clauses' cooperation.

About to try again, he had to pause when he heard a knock, and cleared his throat, gathering himself and tucking away his mild irritation. "Come in."

Prince Marcolo walked in and took a seat, so agitated he barely registered Roarke's automatic rise and bow. "Mr. Roarke, I really need to speak with you," he said without preamble. "I had hoped to talk with Princess Leslie, but it seems she is unavailable, so I've come to you." He leaned forward and stared intently at Roarke. "There is something about my part of this fantasy that I neglected to tell you and the princess this morning."

"Indeed," said Roarke and sat back, regarding Marcolo with interest. After what his daughter had told him at lunch, he wasn't remotely surprised. Not that he would have been anyway; far too many guests over the years had had some hidden motive that they'd been reluctant or frightened to reveal to him right away.

"I want something done about that slandering woman," Marcolo said flatly. "If it must be done here, then so be it. She has suggested not only that I am a hopeless playboy, but that I have had assignations with so many women already that I must have contracted the AIDS virus!" Outrage colored his features. "This is not so, I tell you! I suppose if I really must, I can overlook the charges of being a playboy, false though they are. But this snide insistence that I have such an insidious disease—this cannot go unanswered, Mr. Roarke, it simply cannot! Particularly not by someone in my position and of my stature! Do you understand my situation? It is urgent that something be done!"

"What do you think would have caused Ms. Verdon to present such an idea?" asked Roarke calmly.

Marcolo scowled and flung his hands into the air with exasperation. "I ask you, how am I to know the answer to that? I have not knowingly been involved with anyone who was ill with the virus." He shot to his feet, flattened his palms on Roarke's desk and glared his host in the eye, his face gaining an alarming amount of extra color. "This libel, this slander, cannot be permitted to continue. I am a prince of Arcolos, Mr. Roarke. You must allow me to address and correct this problem. You are obligated to provide what your guests ask you for, are you not? Therefore, since I demand that you allow me to confront that woman, you must step back and let me do so!"

"Your Highness, are you the only one who finds these false charges so serious?" Roarke asked, just a touch pointedly. "Or does the rest of your family feel as you do?"

Marcolo snorted and flashed a glance skyward. "Surely you jest with me. My father has said that I must correct these ridiculous rumors in order to maintain not only my own honor, but that of the Arcolosian royal family. So you see my position."

Roarke nodded. "Yes, I do. However, you must remember one thing, Your Highness. Barbara Verdon is as much my guest as you or the companions with whom you arrived here this morning, and as such, she is entitled to the same rights and privileges—and protections. I cannot allow a free-for-all to occur simply because you and your compatriots maintain grudges against what you know perfectly well to be false allegations."

Marcolo stared at him in disbelief. "So you are telling me I am not to be allowed to defend myself? And she is to be allowed to continue spreading her malicious lies?"

"If her claims disturb you to such an extent, my dear Prince Marcolo," Roarke said, "then why do you not file suit for libel? It's not unprecedented, as I'm sure you know."

"Perhaps not, but frankly I doubt it would have much effect. Besides, it would negate the reason I came here in the first place. A libel lawsuit will do nothing to teach that woman the lesson she so sorely needs to learn. We have paid handsomely for this fantasy, and we insist that you grant it. I have no doubt that I speak for all five of my group, and I also am certain that I speak equally for Prince Christian and Princess Leslie. Surely you are aware that they are that woman's latest targets." Marcolo spun around on one heel and leaned over the desk to pin Roarke with a narrow-eyed glare of challenge. "Or is it your intention to let those lies go unanswered as well?"

"You and the others will have your chance to confront Barbara Verdon directly, this evening," Roarke reminded him coolly. "As I explained to you earlier, there is to be a small private party at the nightclub near town, exclusively for this weekend's celebrity guests." Marcolo looked a little mollified by this, and straightened up, letting his arms relax at his sides. Then Roarke continued: "However, I must warn you once again: revenge may seem sweet in the beginning, but it has a way of backfiring. If you and your companions are truly determined to have it out with Ms. Verdon, then I urge all of you to practice restraint and caution. You may cause far more harm than a series of printed lies ever could."

The prince stared at him for a moment; Roarke's gaze was so intense that Marcolo finally looked away, his face freezing into a mask of determination. "We will have what we came here for, Mr. Roarke, and nothing will stop us." So saying, he stalked out.

Roarke sighed gently and settled back in his chair. Between these stubborn celebrities—who looked to include his own daughter and son-in-law—and his repeated failure to make contact with Santa Claus, his weekend didn't look very good at all. He had to admit that he was truly looking forward to the New Year's break.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- December 17, 2005

Roarke watched in silence from his chair while Christian and Leslie settled their children in their high chairs and then took their own seats. The triplets were in good moods; Haruko had taken them out to the beach that afternoon and let them play in the sand to their hearts' content. Their feet were dirty, their sunsuits damp with saltwater, their hair tossed and tangled, their skin sticky with sunscreen lotion; but their eyes sparkled and they chattered happy nonsense. Christian ruffled each child's hair, dislodging sand grains, and Leslie giggled and dropped kisses on their foreheads before taking her own chair. "What's on the menu?" she asked.

"We have plenty of goodies, Miss Leslie," Mariki promised, already unloading her cart and beaming. "Salad, soup, sandwich makings of all kinds, crunchy veggies, and there's plenty of fresh fruit for dessert. I hope your little imps burned off a lot of energy at the beach today. We love them, but we sure enjoyed the peace and quiet this afternoon."

"I don't doubt it," Leslie agreed dryly, grinning. "Sounds delicious. So, Father, did you finally get hold of Santa Claus?"

Christian raised an eyebrow and watched Roarke with more than the usual interest, while Roarke's features grew surprisingly exasperated for a man who normally exhibited so much patience. "I have found it exceedingly difficult to get through," he said, his voice tinged with annoyance. "I realize he is busy, but surely he can take just a few moments to speak with me, particularly when the issue concerns a child!"

Mariki wheeled her cart off the porch, looking utterly nonchalant (and not fooling Leslie in the slightest: she knew the cook was as startled as Christian, but trying to one-up the prince by not showing it); but Christian couldn't help asking, "Just how are you trying to get in touch with him, Mr. Roarke? Are you saying there's a long-distance telephone number to the North Pole or something?"

"That isn't the issue," Roarke said impatiently. "If you wish your own children to have the chance to meet Mr. Claus, perhaps you'd be wise to show a little more respect."

His tone put Leslie on alert, and she shifted a cautious gaze in his direction. "It's not Mrs. Claus, is it?"

"I can't reach anyone at all, let alone Mrs. Claus," Roarke said, shaking his head. "For the first time in a great many years, I may find myself unable to grant a fantasy."

"It's happened before?" Christian asked, looking genuinely astonished.

Roarke favored him with a fulminating stare. "I will thank you to refrain from discussing this any further," he said ominously, and Christian shrugged and subsided.

Leslie sat back in her chair and eyed Roarke suspiciously. "All right, Father, out with it. There's got to be more to your mood than just being unable to get Santa on the phone, or whatever means you're using. What's really the matter?"

"Are you aware that Prince Marcolo came to speak to me this afternoon while you were over at Christian's office?" Roarke asked.

Surprised, she shook her head; Christian paused to listen in. "No. So that's where he was. I stopped by his bungalow after I left Enstad Computer Services, but he wasn't there, so I just made the usual rounds and dropped by Julie's B&B while I was at it. Well, what did he talk to you about?"

"His own hidden reason for wishing to confront Barbara Verdon directly," Roarke said, and told Christian and Leslie what Marcolo had said. "Of them all, he seems to be the most determined to obtain his proverbial pound of flesh." He frowned, pausing long enough to allow both parents to finish filling their children's plates. Then he startled them with, "He seems to be convinced that the two of you will be very much on his side, as well as everyone else's, this evening."

Leslie stopped and looked oddly at him, blinking slowly in confusion; Christian gave his head a small, quick shake and peered narrowly at Roarke. "Do you mean he thinks we'll assist him and the others who came here in getting revenge on Verdon?"

"Precisely," said Roarke. His dark eyes were obsidian with disapproval. "And from what Leslie said at lunch, I fear he's correct."

"Mmm, she told me about your conversation." Christian drew in a breath, exhaled and sat up straight, and looked Roarke directly in the eye. "I'm sorry, Mr. Roarke, but Leslie and I are of one mind on this subject. I'm sure you know we've seen how Barbara Verdon has targeted us in the days since she came here. Her claims that I would desert my family in favor of expanding my business are absurd, but she goes too far in making the suggestion. And now that I've heard that there's more to her gossip than you and Leslie were initially told, I'm afraid I need to find a way to stop this before it grows into something truly destructive." Christian sat back, his expression implacable; Leslie wondered if this was the way he had been whenever he argued with his father or oldest brother. "Leslie tells me you said our presence is mandatory at tonight's party. If that's true, then I intend to put it to good use. I won't waste an opportunity when I'm given one, and you've done that."

Roarke watched him expressionlessly throughout this entire speech, and now he sat in silence for several long seconds, taking in the full measure of Christian's stubbornness. "I see," he finally said, his voice neutral. "Tell me, Christian, before we go on, are you aware that Leslie herself was of two minds in regard to Ms. Verdon's columns about you?"

Christian frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

Leslie had drawn in a sharp breath at the same time and sat up in alarm. "Father, for fate's sake, please, don't!"

Roarke looked at her as if in surprise. "Are you saying you haven't told him?"

"Told me what?" Christian put in, looking at her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

Leslie felt herself shaking; she couldn't understand what Roarke was trying to do. "I can't believe you could stoop so low as to try to drive a wedge between me and Christian, just because we want to let Barbara Verdon know we're upset with her." She clenched her jaw, then turned to Christian. "I was afraid Verdon had hit on some kernel of truth. I'm not saying she was right. I only felt as if you always spend too much time away from us when you're hiring for a new branch—and that's it!" The last three words were missiles hurled at Roarke, whose face remained passive. Unable to get a rise from him, she turned pleadingly back to Christian. "It doesn't mean I believe what she said. I was reacting emotionally."

Christian smiled, relaxing and relieving her tremendously. "I know, my Rose…you have rather a habit of doing that." She rolled her eyes and he chuckled shortly, reaching over to squeeze her hand before returning his attention to Roarke. "In view of your belief that we want some sort of catastrophic revenge on Barbara Verdon, I can only say that I feel betrayed —and I'm sure Leslie does as well, perhaps even more so than I, since she's lived with you for most of thirty years now. Don't you know either of us by now, well enough to realize that we'd never go to such depths?"

Roarke slowly sat up, studying him all the while. "I do know that, when provoked, you have a very volatile temper," he said, rather damningly, Leslie thought. "I can do little more than warn you of the dire consequences you will suffer should any bodily harm come to Barbara Verdon at your hands."

Christian's eyes grew sharp and icy. "I have more control than that," he bit out.

He said no more, and for a long moment Roarke and Christian stared hard at each other, while Leslie gripped the edge of the table and the triplets began to emit frightened whimpers. Finally she was driven to implore, "Please, stop it…you're scaring the kids!"

Roarke reacted first, glancing at her, then the triplets; she could see his eyes skip from one child to the next and soften as they did so. She had time only to swallow before seeing him nod curtly once and relax a little. "Very well," he said. "I trust that the two of you will be discreet in your dealings with Barbara Verdon."

"Thank you," said Christian quietly and turned away. Leslie blew out her breath and closed her eyes briefly, then met Christian's gaze and returned his slight smile with relief.

After supper Christian and Leslie gave Susanna, Karina and Tobias baths; then Leslie took the children home for the night, changing clothes and returning to the main house to pick up Christian, who also had changed into his favorite black slacks and black silk shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up. She had chosen the black dress with the short skirt that she'd worn to Queen Gabriella's coronation party several years before, and he chuckled at her attire, lounging in the doorway of the upstairs bathroom at the main house. She was freshening her makeup as he watched. "Since we look like a matched set, maybe it will give us some extra ammunition against Barbara Verdon," he suggested, half facetiously.

Leslie glanced cheerfully at him in the mirror. "Yeah, a psychosomatic tactical advantage, I guess." He grinned and nodded, and she remarked, "We might need it—not just against her but around Father. I've never seen him so cold."

Christian looked rueful. "We presented a united front against him—for the first time since our marriage, I think. Perhaps ever since we met each other. I don't think he was quite prepared for that. I daresay that at this point, the only way we can warm up relations with him is to keep our word that we'll handle Verdon with discretion."

"He's really afraid someone's going to do something drastic to her," Leslie remarked with a sigh, snapping a compact shut and stashing it in a drawer. "I have to admit, I can't blame him. He mentioned asking Marcolo why he didn't file suit. I've started to think that maybe if somebody _had_ sued her, it wouldn't have come down to this, and there wouldn't be the possibility of having Verdon sue one of _them_ instead."

That silenced Christian for a moment; he dropped his gaze and considered it, then shrugged a little and looked at her in the mirror while she was applying a bit of lip gloss. "If that does happen, all I can do is promise you that I won't be responsible," he said with a tiny smile that made her grin. "Don't worry, my Rose. I won't do anything myself, but I'm sorry to have to admit that I'll get a certain enjoyment out of whatever does happen to her." He hesitated, glanced down the stairs as if afraid Roarke would overhear, and then added hastily, "As long as it's not something very serious."

She put away the last of the makeup and came to wrap her arms around his waist. "My softhearted husband," she teased gently, and he snorted, making her laugh. "Well, let's get this thing over with. At least it's a fairly private affair. There are lots of other celebrities here for a holiday vacation, so it's not like Verdon won't have plenty of targets to shoot at for her next column."

She was right. The nightclub was large enough to accommodate about two hundred people at one time, and it was already at least half full when Christian and Leslie arrived. The prince looked around in amazement as Leslie led him to one of the few remaining empty tables, and when they'd sat down he observed in wonder, "I haven't yet seen a face in here that I couldn't attach a name to! What is this, has half of Hollywood descended on Fantasy Island this Christmas season?"

"Oh, we get quite a lot of famous people every Christmas," Leslie said, grinning. "It's just that you usually don't indulge in the leisurely pursuits they tend to follow while they're here, so you see hardly any of them unless they need a computer fixed. Besides, it's not just Hollywood stars. There're Nashville stars, European stars, Asian and Australian stars…"

"All right, all right," Christian said, raising his hands and laughing. "I suppose you'll have to make the rounds once or twice just to be sure everyone's enjoying themselves."

"Once will probably be enough." Leslie swept a slow gaze around the brightly lit club. "Unlike Marcolo and our four performing fantasizers, most of these folks are just here to enjoy themselves and relax. It's like luau duty. Something to drink?"

"See if they have Vallomoros wine here," Christian suggested, and she nodded and put in the request with the resident bartender, then circulated the long way back to check in with various famous visitors. She wove through tables, pausing frequently to say hello, to answer a question or two, to return a greeting. She acquired a couple of companions on the way, and came back to hers and Christian's table with Karsten Henning and Joy Foster in tow. Karsten promptly bowed to the prince before shaking hands; coming from a monarchical country as he did, he knew what the basic protocol was. Joy hesitated, then offered a curtsy before Christian waved it off and shook hands with her as well. They all sat down, and Leslie handed a glass of wine to her husband.

"Mr. Roarke really knows how to throw a party," Karsten remarked, surveying their surroundings. "He also knows the meaning of privacy…" At this Leslie winced a little, grateful that only Christian saw her. "…gives us luminaries a chance to get away from our adoring mobs." He snickered. "I love a good party. Are there supposed to be more people?"

"There might be a few," Leslie mused, glancing around again a little nervously, "but I think for the most part, whoever's planning to come is here."

"You actually enjoy things like this?" Christian asked Karsten incredulously. Leslie and Joy looked at each other and grinned; Christian was well-known the world over for his dislike of being in the spotlight, and at parties in particular.

Karsten looked surprised, then laughed. "That's right, Your Highness, I forgot about your party phobia. Well, that's understandable, considering your circumstances—born famous and all that." Christian nodded, looking intrigued by Karsten's cheerful monologue in spite of himself. "I can see where you might get sick of it. But I gotta tell you, Gaute—my best friend—and I've been working toward fame and fortune since we were old enough to start taking music lessons. I mean, we never saw ourselves as anything besides rock stars. I guess the other guys in the group are getting a bit mellow with age—Gaute and Magne've settled down with families, Kåre's married." He shrugged, for a moment looking wistful. "I guess that's why I'm still such a party animal. I'm still single."

Christian chuckled. "You sound like me. It took me nearly forty years to find Leslie, and at times the wait was arduous, but she's always been worth it." He smiled at Leslie, who smiled back, feeling her face heat with a pleasant, mild embarrassment. "They say there's someone for everyone. I wasn't inclined to believe it till I met Leslie, but I'm a convert. You never know, perhaps you'll meet someone here this evening."

"That, Your Highness, is the biggest reason I go to every party I'm invited to," parried Karsten with a wide grin, and they all laughed. "Well, maybe you're right about this one. In the spirit of that, Joy, how about a dance?" Joy nodded enthusiastically and got up with him, and Christian and Leslie watched them fall into the rhythm of a lively song.

"I've heard he's quite the character," Christian remarked. "Apparently it's true. I just can't imagine how anyone can enjoy being dragged from one party to another."

"That's because you weren't allowed to make the choice," Leslie said. "He was."

Christian nodded. "I suppose that's valid enough. Well, perhaps this one won't be as bad as I'd feared. I don't see any sign of everyone's least favorite gossip."

At which point—only slightly to Leslie's surprise—the entrance door opened, and Barbara Verdon stepped in, looking like a termite in a sawmill. "You spoke too soon, my love," she said, gesturing at the door when he cast her a quizzical look.

Christian peered over his shoulder and groaned. "That figures. I suppose she had to be here so that your friends could have their fantasy fulfilled, but still…"

"It had to happen sometime. She sure doesn't waste any time, I see." Barbara Verdon had already begun pausing beside tables, and it was clear that her presence was a major damper on the party; without exception, everyone she visited gave her disgusted looks at the very least, often a few sharp, short words as well. Christian exploded with laughter when one young actor, known for his short temper around media representatives, presented her with an upraised middle finger. Leslie tried with no success at all to smother her own mirth behind her hand.

"Go ahead and laugh, my Rose, she deserves it," Christian chortled, still watching the gossip maven circulating. "If I weren't royalty and expected to maintain a certain level of dignity, I'd probably do the same thing. Perhaps I will anyway."

"Oh, you," Leslie giggled, flapping a hand at him. "You're too much. Do you want to get on the dance floor now to avoid her, or just get the encounter over with?"

Christian scowled. "Since I happen to be her latest target, and since I'm sure she's not finished with me yet, I'd prefer to postpone meeting her as long as I can. Dance, my darling? From there you'll be able to see the party better anyhow."

Fortunately the song had changed by then to something slower, and a goodly number of couples were on the floor for Christian and Leslie to join. Now and then someone would call out to Leslie to compliment her on the party, and she would accept on Roarke's behalf; otherwise they were undisturbed, and talked softly now and then while keeping discreet track of Barbara Verdon's movements. Two songs drifted by with no incident, by which time Verdon had made a circuit of about three-quarters of the room because she had been rebuffed by so many of her targets. Christian looked unaccountably gleeful; Leslie was beginning to wonder if anything really was going to happen, since Verdon couldn't avoid being shot down in flames by everyone she met.

She had just stopped beside the table where Karsten Henning and Joy Foster had joined Toni Karlsen when the entrance door opened again and admitted Prince Marcolo, drawing Leslie's attention. "Well," she said wryly, "look who's here. I thought 'fashionably late' wasn't anymore."

Christian chuckled. "Don't tell that to Arcolosian high society. Being fashionably late is an art form there. A regrettable one, I daresay, at least in this case." Marcolo's entrance had also attracted Verdon's attention, and she promptly abandoned her current targets, making a beeline for him. Christian and Leslie watched in amusement as Marcolo tilted his nose into the air and made a very clear point of snubbing Verdon; Christian snickered and remarked, "Louella Parsons, she is not."

"Nor Hedda Gabler either," Leslie noted.

Christian's snickers evolved into full-blown laughter, turning nearby heads. "My darling," he chortled when he could speak, "that was Hedda _Hopper_. Hedda Gabler was a character in an Ibsen play."

Leslie groaned with embarrassment. "Well, that tells you what I know about Hollywood history," she muttered, shaking her head at herself. "Father probably would've thought that was just as funny as you did. Cripes, Myeko would've killed me. She's the one who took drama in high school, not me." Christian was still grinning, and she finally lifted her head to direct an accusing look at him. "What I'd like to know is, how come you're so aware of these famous gossips? You can't stand them, after all."

"Believe me, my Rose, it wasn't by choice," Christian assured her dryly. "The royal family is acutely aware of the names of all gossip columnists who have more than a local reputation. There's not a single one of them who hasn't managed to offend some member of the family at some point throughout the history of celebrity reportage. Anna-Laura tells me that Mother's diaries in the years she was first married to Father were full of diatribes against assorted gossip writers."

"Oh, so that's where you got it from," Leslie teased, and he grinned good-naturedly in response. "Actually, I'm surprised Myeko's not here. She'd have all sorts of news for her own column, and it wouldn't be remotely as vindictive as Verdon's."

"That's easily explained. Nick stopped in to drop off a laptop he needs to have me look at, and mentioned that all three of the children are ill with chickenpox. It's taking both of them to keep them happy."

"Oh, I see." Leslie's gaze meandered back to the tables around the room, and she spotted Barbara Verdon now in earnest conversation with Elin Kristel Granath, whose emotion-red face was obvious even from where they stood. Though Elin Kristel spoke good English, she had a fairly heavy accent; and Leslie recalled from their meeting earlier that day that she had sometimes hesitated, searching for a word she wanted. Verdon's interviewing style was staccato at best, machine-gun-fire at worst; and Leslie was sure that poor Elin Kristel was being overrun by the fast-talking gossip maven.

"Who's the poor victim now?" Christian asked idly, following Leslie's gaze even as he spoke. No sooner had he turned his head than Elin Kristel snapped; they both gasped when the singer snatched up a glass and ejected its contents full-on into Barbara Verdon's face. _"Herregud._ I don't suppose that was the revenge moment your guests were looking for…"

"It's a little extreme, but I doubt it," Leslie said uneasily.

Elin Kristel bounded out of her chair and stalked furiously onto the dance floor, heading straight for Christian and Leslie as if magnetized. They stopped dancing, waiting for her to reach them; Elin Kristel sketched Christian a quick bow which he acknowledged with an equally brief nod, then said, "I can no longer stand to be in the same place with that woman. Leslie, please, you and Mr. Roarke must do something."

Christian cleared his throat and said deliberately, "Don't forget your fantasy."

Elin Kristel's face blazed bright crimson. "Are you so sure that Mr. Roarke will grant it, Your Highness?" she asked, her voice trembling with rage and impending tears.

Leslie reached out and put a hand on Elin Kristel's arm. "Calm down, Elin Kristel. What was she saying to you?"

"I could hardly understand half of it, she spoke so fast. She brought it up again, that she believes I will desert my family for a career in America. She would ask a question, and before I could say more than two or three words, she interrupted me and made a remark that was meant to hurt and to…to mislead. Tell me, where is Mr. Roarke when we truly need him? Can't he come here and tell her to stop it?"

Leslie hesitated before she spoke, aware of Elin Kristel's expectant glare and Christian's avid curiosity. "This is your fantasy, yours and Karsten Henning's, and Toni Karlsen's, and Joy Foster's, and Prince Marcolo's. It…it's not my place, or my father's, to intervene on your behalf."

"You have said that she is writing lies about you and His Highness also," snapped Elin Kristel, indicating Christian with a flick of the fingers. "Will you simply let her treat you so when it is your turn? For she comes here now." She shot a contemptuous glance to one side, and Christian and Leslie could see that she was right; Barbara Verdon had finally caught up with them. "I wish you luck," Elin Kristel said sardonically and left them.

The breeze she created in departing still swirled around Christian and Leslie when Verdon stepped into the singer's place. "So, you _are_ here," she crowed happily, beaming at them. Christian's face set into grim lines and Leslie forced herself to breathe deeply, giving herself courage to aim the first shot.

"Just who do you think you are, telling outrageous lies about us?" she demanded.

"How can they be lies, my dear, when you yourself have been complaining about your husband's absences to open new branches of his business?" Verdon asked silkily. "I overheard you myself, so you certainly can't deny it."

"I'd like to know what makes it your business," Leslie shot back, already getting the feeling she was losing the battle.

"You're famous," Verdon said with a casual shrug, the smile never leaving her somewhat jowly features. She wore heavy makeup in an attempt to minimize her aging, but they could easily see the effects of time on her face. Makeup had caked into the crow's feet around her eyes, and her lipstick was too bright a red for someone of her years. Her bright, obsequious smile revealed teeth stained from years of cigarette smoke. "Everyone wants to know what famous people do. They want to see that they're like them, having financial and marital problems, making mistakes…"

"Interesting," said Christian. "You truly do make a point of recording only the negative side of the lives of the famous. Exactly what grudge do you have against us? And why pick on me? I'd be more than willing to explain to you why I spend so much time away from home when I open a new branch, but I honestly don't think you care. You focus on the event without bothering to understand the reason, purely for the shock and the sensationalism, so that you can make your subjects look bad in print and titillate those who love to see the successful brought to the lowest possible point."

Barbara Verdon looked intrigued. "What a lovely analysis, Your Highness," she cooed. "Maybe I'll even print that. A direct quote, hm?"

"That'd be a change," Christian retorted.

Verdon clucked her tongue and shook her head chidingly. "Uh-uh-uh, none of that, now, Your Highness," she said lightly. "Surely there's no reason we can't have a civilized conversation." When Christian simply glared at her, she turned to Leslie. "Well, then, Mrs. Enstad, wouldn't you like the chance to air your grievances over His Highness's long absences from home? This is the perfect opportunity, don't you think?"

"Now look—" Leslie began hotly, ready to give the woman a piece of her mind. If she were to talk to anyone about her misgivings in that regard, it certainly wouldn't be Barbara Verdon. But the columnist didn't let her finish and broke in:

"Don't be so hasty, Mrs. Enstad…it's not exactly a secret that you don't like it when the prince is gone so long. You mentioned it yourself not a week ago, remember?"

"That was a private—"

"Spoken right there on the front veranda of the main house, for any passing person to overhear. I can hardly be blamed for being interested in a conversation that was being held right out in the open that way."

"Oh, believe me, you can—"

"Now, dear, I know you're upset. It can't be easy caring for three little children all by yourself without any help from their father, even if you do have a maid. And I'm sure you worry that they'll forget who he is and see him as a stranger when he comes home." Verdon shot Christian a glance, shifting her eyeballs momentarily, before adding craftily, "Presuming he wants to come home. There must be a good reason he stays away so long."

"There is," Leslie said, glaring at her.

"Of course there is, and this is your chance to say so. He gets entangled with some female while he's away, and he needs the extra time to break up the affair…maybe even pay her off, hm?"

Leslie saw red. "Oh, you really are a—"

"Now now, dear, that's not very fitting for a princess, is it?" Verdon asked with a light laugh, patting her arm. Leslie flinched away from her. "Oh, come now, I'm not poisonous, for heaven's sake."

"No? But you're an asp," Christian inserted, neatly eliding the final consonant and leaving the word ambiguous.

Verdon blinked and stared at him for just a second; Leslie allowed herself the briefest of smiles at his successful barb before the woman recovered her ever-present composure. "I guess the truth hurts, Your Highness, doesn't it?"

"He's been totally faithful to me since we met," Leslie snapped.

"How do you know that?" Verdon riposted easily. "He's away so long, and you're not with him, after all. There's just no telling what he does when you're apart. And after all, he's a prince. Royalty is known for arrogance and for being spoiled—they always find a way to get what they want, and they want whatever they see. Including quick extramarital affairs."

"Christian isn't—" Leslie exploded.

"He was raised royalty…everyone says he's down-to-earth, but royalty tells, my dear, royalty tells. There are things about being raised a prince that are universal, and even this prince is going to have his peccadilloes. They're spoiled, you know…"

Speechless, Leslie began to raise a fist, but Christian caught her, deftly reaching out at the same time and planting a hand firmly over Verdon's mouth. "You've said more than enough," he informed her flatly. "If you can't conduct a proper interview and give us time to actually answer your questions, then we see no point in wasting our time letting you fill our ears with your nonsense. We have nothing more to say to you. Go away." He released her and pointedly presented her with his back; Leslie couldn't resist one last glare before aping his action. From behind them there was an offended _hmph!_ and then silence.

Christian sneaked a peek over his shoulder and relaxed visibly. "Good, she took the hint," he said. "Leslie, my Rose, were you really going to hit her?"

Leslie looked down in surprise at the fist that was still clenched at her side. "My God, I guess I was," she exclaimed, startled. "Wow. I'm glad you stopped me."

Christian grinned. "I appreciate the fact that you're so willing to come to my defense, but don't worry…I've had a lifetime of practice dealing with so-called 'reporters' like her. I think it's time we got off our feet for a while and had a little something to drink. We never did finish that wine you brought back."

Some distance across the room, unbeknownst to the Enstads, their entire encounter with Barbara Verdon had been witnessed by Elin Kristel Granath, Karsten Henning, Toni Karlsen, Joy Foster and Prince Marcolo. They all sat up and stared in amazement when Christian covered Barbara Verdon's mouth with one hand. "Look at that," marveled Joy. "I can't believe he thought to do that."

"Why did no one else ever do it?" Marcolo asked in wonder. "I always thought Prince Christian was very cool in such situations, and now I understand how he does it."

"It gives me an idea," Elin Kristel said suddenly, "an idea about how we will have our fantasy."

The others immediately turned to her, eager curiosity on their faces. "How?" Joy prompted. "At this point I'm willing to try anything, after she threatened to 'prove' my nonexistent drug use."

Elin Kristel smiled. "If it is so easy to make her quiet, then why don't we do that?" At their confused looks, she went on to explain her idea. Their expressions transformed as she spoke, and when she finished, they stared at one another with growing delight on their faces. "What do you think?" the Swedish singer asked.

"I say we go for it," Joy said immediately. "What do you guys think?"

Toni shrugged and grinned. "Heck, why not? It's our fantasy."

"So it is," Marcolo said, smiling smugly. "Yes, we should do it."

"How can I resist such a marvelously devious plan?" asked Karsten with a wide grin. "Simple, yet perfect. Let's do it. Now, who's going to be the bait?"


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- December 17, 2005

Back at their table, Christian and Leslie sipped slowly from their wine glasses, glad to be off their feet and free from Barbara Verdon, who once again had pigeonholed a partygoer and was subjecting him to her usual don't-let-'em-talk routine. "It's a wonder," Christian said, shaking his head, "that she enjoys the wide readership and fame that she does, using such a thoroughly unprofessional technique. She should have been fired long ago."

"She started out legit, from what I understand," said Leslie. "This comes from Father, by the way. She was an entertainment reporter for the _L.A. Times_, and her writing style was a lot different from what it is now—light and cheery. But she discovered that she got a lot more readers when she was reporting some juicy piece of gossip that its subject would have preferred not get out. The letters she got from readers just went to prove that there was gold in that there gossip." Christian grinned at her terminology. "So gradually her specialty shifted from general entertainment reporting to a focus on scandal…both real and made-up. The _National Enquirer_ tried to hire her, but she was happy with the _Times_, and they liked the increased circulation she brought. She had her own staff of spies—heavy turnover, mind you, because once she established the reputation she has now, celebrities had no problem hurling all sorts of abuse at her lackeys, and with justification. If there was anything even remotely gossip-worthy, they gave it to her and she blew it up into something heinous. And the public loved it. You know how people like to build up idols and then tear them down again. It's sadistic, but that's what they do. She feeds on that, and look how fat and happy it's made her. She's the Queen of Gossip, and she loves it."

"Hmm, so I see," Christian murmured. He glanced idly around and then stopped when he saw something odd. "Leslie…do you believe that?"

"What?" she asked, and he gestured off to their left. She followed his gaze just in time to see Elin Kristel Granath, standing right at the edge of the dance floor, waving frantically at Barbara Verdon; as they watched, Verdon caught the movement and brightened so visibly at sight of Elin Kristel that she looked like something out of a cartoon. "What on earth is she doing?" Leslie asked, staring in disbelief.

"Perhaps she has a masochistic streak in her," Christian said with a perplexed shrug. They continued to watch while Verdon homed in on Elin Kristel and began peppering her with questions. As before, Elin Kristel clearly was trying to break in with replies, but Verdon kept cutting her off. They could see Karsten Henning and Prince Marcolo standing nearby; but Toni Karlsen and Joy Foster had apparently disappeared somewhere.

"They're not even trying to stick up for her," Leslie noted, frowning.

Christian grunted with disgust and tossed back the last of his wine. "So much for the brotherhood of the theater."

But Leslie shook her head. "No…I don't think that's it," she said, slowly and uneasily. "Something's up—I mean, Karsten's and Marcolo's expressions…"

Christian, alerted by her tone of voice, put his full attention to the scene; they were still trying to figure out what lay behind their guests' strange actions when Leslie noticed the entrance door open to admit Joy Foster and Toni Karlsen. They dodged and weaved till they'd almost reached their companions; then Joy ducked away to one side before Verdon could see her, while Toni fell in beside Elin Kristel and did a very nice job of pretending to be shocked. _Well,_ thought Leslie, _nice enough to fool Verdon anyway. Her performance isn't up to the caliber that got her that Oscar!_ Still, she watched, unable to look away.

"What in hell are they doing?" Christian muttered, deeply confused.

Joy appeared again from the opposite side of the room, toting a chair and wearing some sort of odd-looking bangle on one arm. She approached Verdon from behind with the chair held out directly in front of her, as if preparing to offer the gossip columnist a place to sit down. Christian and Leslie looked at each other in sheer bewilderment. "I don't get this," Leslie said, biting her lip, "but something tells me I will soon."

"Me too," Christian said, letting his gaze drift back to the unfolding tableau. "There's a purpose to this, make no mistake, no matter how ridiculous it looks now."

‡ ‡ ‡

So far their little ballet was coming off perfectly, per their hasty choreography some ten minutes before. Once Elin Kristel had volunteered to be the one to undergo another round with Barbara Verdon, Joy and Toni had agreed to go and get the one crucial item they needed to pull off the plan. Karsten and Marcolo watched surreptitiously now as Joy came sneaking up on Verdon from behind; Verdon was so intent on Elin Kristel, asking leading questions and then breaking into Elin Kristel's answers as she always did, that she never noticed anything else. From time to time Toni would try to butt in, but Verdon completely ignored her, which irked Toni in a manner as genuine as her outrage had been phony. Karsten decided privately that he'd have to tease her about that later.

Marcolo caught his eye and nodded once, and Karsten winked at him; then he turned to Verdon and grabbed her arm. "All right, I think that's enough, Ms. Verdon. Elin Kristel has had more than her share of your abuse this evening, so suppose you step back and find someone your own size to pick on?"

"Now just a minute, Mister Henning, I was conducting an interview—invited, I might add, by Miss Granath herself," Verdon blustered, looking thrown off her composure for once. "I'll thank you to unhand me, and then you'll have your turn."

"No, it's _your_ turn now," said Joy from behind, and that was the cue for Karsten and Marcolo to push Verdon into the chair Joy had appropriated from somewhere. "Okay, guys, hang onto her."

"What do you think you're doing?" Barbara Verdon demanded.

"This," said Joy, removing the roll of duct tape from her arm and pulling off a piece about six inches long. Karsten and Marcolo firmly held Verdon's arms down while Joy carefully plastered the tape smoothly and firmly over the woman's mouth. By this time they had a fairly good-sized audience, and when they could see what Joy had done, they burst into appreciative laughter and applause. Barbara Verdon's eyes grew huge with horror and anger, and she squirmed in Karsten's and Marcolo's grip, squealing behind the tape.

Toni grinned at her. "It's an outrage, isn't it?" she remarked with sham sympathy. "Having your words completely ignored? Now you're gonna find out what we feel like when you come barreling along with your big mouth and your poison pen."

"Precisely," said Elin Kristel. "I am so angry with you, I don't care who hears me now, so long as you hear me. I am not, I repeat _I am not_, deserting my family for an American career. That is a terrible, ugly lie. I will stay in Sweden and remain with my husband and my children, and travel to America when I need to, to further my career. I am not moving there and leaving my family. I hope you understand me now, and you had better be listening to me, for this is the truth."

"Something alien to you, for sure," wisecracked a well-known rap performer, clad in glistening black leather and multitudes of chains. "Yeah, Verdon, I know what you been tryin' to do. Makin' up that stupid story about me bein' sent up for murder and escapin' from death row in San Quentin. Oh yeah, I been in trouble before, but I ain't stupid enough to kill nobody. Like the lady said, hope you're listenin' good."

"And the lies you have told about my having AIDS, which are completely false and unfounded," Marcolo added hotly. "How do you dare to think of such things to say about people who have never said an unkind word against you?"

"Yeah, you said it!" cheered several voices.

"You and your lies," Joy said, speaking loudly, close to Verdon's ear. By now the columnist was bright red with what appeared to be a mix of outrage and panic, and she was struggling in Karsten's and Marcolo's grip, but they refused to release her. In fact, an actor and a very popular country singer stepped in and lent their assistance. Joy went on, "You really ought to check your so-called facts when your toadies bring them in. Where they got the idea I'm on black lightning, I don't know, but it's false. Pure and simple. Who knows…maybe this is one of _your_ ugly little vices. Imagine that…the venerated gossip maven might be secretly doing all the stupid things she likes to accuse others of doing!"

"How many years have you been smoking? Maybe it's not just cancer sticks…you think she might be on weed or something?" another voice asked, bringing on derisive laughter. Verdon was whimpering uselessly behind the tape, her eyes huge and scared, but no one took any notice. The crowd around her was getting bigger every second, and everyone there seemed to have another, increasingly angry and accusatory "question" to ask her.

Leslie stood up and started for the DJ's booth, determined to try to cut through what looked to be a fast-escalating crisis. Christian, alarmed, jumped to his feet and followed her, casting frequent glances back at the crowd around Barbara Verdon. "Leslie, what are you trying to do?"

"I've got to stop them before this gets out of hand," she said without breaking stride. "I mean, it's one thing to air your grievances, but this…" By this time the crowd was too big to ignore and the music had stopped, so that all they could hear were individual voices yelling at Barbara Verdon, along with frequent choruses of agreement, sometimes applause and even the occasional laugh.

Before they made it halfway to the booth, however, several hands grabbed Leslie's arm and stopped her cold. "Going somewhere?" asked a very deep voice, and she turned to find herself being restrained by a well-built African-American man with a shiny bald head, as well as a very hot actress in her early 30s named April Adams.

"I have to stop this," Leslie said. "This whole thing is getting out of hand."

"If you don't mind," Christian broke in, "please let her go."

"Sorry, Your Highness," said the black man's companion, who was every bit as hairy as his friend was bald. "Barbara Verdon's had this coming for a long time. If someone else hadn't done it, me and Katanga here would've." It was then that Leslie remembered who these two were—Katanga Jones and Kelly Smith, who had been the up-front members of a now-washed-up 80s hair-metal band called Alias Smith & Jones.

The fourth occupant of the table was a mild-mannered-looking gray-haired man wearing glasses and dressed in nondescript jeans, a flannel shirt and cowboy boots. Leslie recognized him as Bobby Bermuda, one-time lead singer for a 70s country band called Buttercup Bandanna, whose biggest hit had been a children's tune called "Sammy Sandman" that she remembered her sisters loving as preschoolers. "Come on, guys, be sports and let her go," he suggested, taking a sip from a glass of beer.

"It may mean her job," Christian added urgently.

"Her job versus our reputations?" April Adams demanded. "Your wife can always find another job, Your Highness, but you get only one reputation per lifetime."

Just then there was a very recognizable throat-clearing over the sound system, and Leslie gasped; Christian turned around, and they found themselves staring at Roarke. He looked as grim as Leslie had ever seen him, and an icicle of fear stabbed through her gut. "Father?" she ventured, half hoping he wouldn't hear her.

Apparently he didn't; Roarke swiftly took in the crowd, which was slowly but surely degenerating towards a mob scene, then spoke directly into the mike. This time he cut easily through the noise. _"Silence!"_

His voice filled the entire club, and the quiet was so sudden it was unnatural. A last camera flashbulb went off before Roarke had everyone's full attention. "I hope you have all had the chance to take your turn humiliating Ms. Verdon," he said condemningly, "because it's over. Stand back and release the lady."

The rapper who had complained about a trumped-up murder rumor shouted angrily, "She ain't no lady, Mr. Roarke! This broad's been tellin' lies about everybody in this room, and we ain't lettin' her do it no more! Ain't that right, peeps?" A resounding cheer went up in response, and Leslie groaned aloud, trying to wrap her hands around her stomach. Christian shot April Adams and Katanga Jones sharp looks that made them release her; then he slid his arms around her from behind and watched with resignation, as if he knew it was too late already and that perhaps even Roarke couldn't restore order.

"You all seem quite pleased and proud of yourselves," Roarke commented caustically. "Does it satisfy your need for restitution, to gang up on Ms. Verdon in this manner all at once and bombard her? Did you truly find it necessary to use such force to get your point across? When it is several dozen against one person, it isn't justice—it's cowardice."

Kelly Smith got up and yelled from behind Leslie and Christian, "Oh, come on, Mr. Roarke, gimme a break! That woman wasn't gonna listen to anybody—she's always too busy running her mouth."

"She never lets you complete a sentence," Prince Marcolo spoke up, fury making his voice shake. "Never! The only way we could make her hear us was by silencing that irritating voice of hers."

"So how's it feel, Ms. Verdon, huh?" taunted an up-and-coming film director who had been victim to rumors of trouble on his movie sets. "You spend all your time talking and not listening. Now it's the other way around. Maybe you'll finally get the message."

"This is intolerable!" Roarke thundered into the microphone. "Look at yourselves! It would take only one of you to overpower the lady, yet you gather into one enormous group and bully her into submission! These are guerilla tactics, and I will not tolerate such actions on my island, whether the victim be guest or resident. You will disperse immediately and return to your accommodations. This party has ended." His voice carried the implacable tone of finality; and since he was the ultimate authority on the island, it had weight. There was grumbling from some quarters, but most of the partygoers seemed subdued now. People began filing out with their heads down. Christian gently pulled Leslie aside when the occupants of their table arose and followed suit; Bobby Bermuda cast them a sympathetic look on his way toward the door.

Barbara Verdon raced up to the DJ booth, her eyes streaming with tears of panic and rage, her hair a mess and her makeup in runnels. She whined behind the tape, pulling ineffectively at it and letting out a muffled squeal of pain every time she tugged. Roarke shook his head. "Please calm yourself, Ms. Verdon. I will take you to a doctor who can help you remove that." He glanced around and, evidently for the first time, spotted Christian and Leslie still standing near the vacated table. "You two had better go home; I'll be waiting to hear from you both in the morning. Ms. Verdon?"

Christian sighed gently against Leslie's hair, watching Roarke escort Barbara Verdon out of the nearly empty club. "He was right," the prince murmured. "I don't think even your guests had any idea just how much momentum their little scheme would gather."

"No," Leslie murmured tiredly. "And it looks like Father's all set to blame me for not keeping it from happening."

Christian rocked her gently back and forth, shushing her. "No, my Rose, no…don't worry about it. If I know Mr. Roarke, he'll listen to you. We weren't in the crowd, after all. Calm down, my Rose, it's all right."

"What if I lose my job over this?" she whispered, staring up at him with frightened eyes. "I couldn't stand that."

Christian squeezed her. "It's all right," he insisted again. "We have healthy savings accounts, and I make enough money to support all of us easily enough. If need be, we can even move back to Lilla Jordsö, but I truly don't think it will go as far as that. Don't worry, Leslie, please, all right? Come on now, let's go home and get some sleep. We'll all be able to think better in the morning."

§ § § -- December 18, 2005

"I simply cannot and will not tolerate such actions by anyone on my island," Roarke said, very angry and working hard to restrain it, but letting the full force of his cold glare rake the four entertainers and the prince who stood gathered in the study. "Do you not realize what you have done? You have done the very thing you decry in Barbara Verdon!"

"What do you mean?" Prince Marcolo asked indignantly. "We haven't spread rumors about her as she has done about us!"

"Perhaps you haven't seen this morning's paper," Roarke said and displayed his copy of that day's _Chronicle_ at them. Joy reached out and took it, gasping at the front-page headline: **REVENGE ON GOSSIP MAVEN!** There was a huge color photograph of herself, Toni, Elin Kristel, Karsten and Marcolo standing around Barbara Verdon, her mouth covered with a long strip of black duct tape that seemed to dominate her whole face, her eyes enormous. Angry, gleeful, taunting faces—all of them very well-known on several continents—surrounded them, but it was plain that Joy, Karsten, Toni, Marcolo and Elin Kristel were the central figures in the whole plot.

"Oh my God," Toni Karlsen said faintly.

"Does this paper circulate beyond Fantasy Island?" Marcolo asked, scowling.

"It will," Roarke assured him. "Many guests take home copies of the paper with their souvenirs, and it will be mere hours before this story is picked up by media around the world—if it hasn't been already."

His five guests looked at one another with varying degrees of dismay, annoyance or shame. Finally Marcolo put his fists on his hips and demanded, "So are we the ones who must take all the blame, when nearly everyone at that party participated?"

"He's right," Joy Foster said, as if taking courage from the young prince. "That picture proves it. Just look at the crowd hanging around."

"The point," Roarke said, "is that you five instigated the incident. It is one thing to gain some measure of retribution against someone who you feel is spreading lies about you; there are more civilized ways in which to do so. Your chosen method, however, went much too far, and I am afraid that you five will now feel a backlash from your actions. Your careers may suffer to some extent; and Your Highness, you will almost certainly face immense disapproval from your family. Did you not consider this before you came here?"

"Frankly, Mr. Roarke, I can't speak for the rest of us, though I'm sure it crossed their minds," Karsten told him, folding his arms over his chest. "But I thought it through, and furthermore, I discussed it with my friends in Midnight Sun. They thought I should do it, even though they had a few misgivings."

"Perhaps they encouraged you to do it because they were aware of your stubborn nature," said Roarke, visibly shocking the drummer, "and your increasing outrage at hearing Ms. Verdon say the same things about you over and over again; and they felt that your coming here would dispel the urge so that you could put your full concentration on your work with the musical group."

Toni Karlsen shifted her weight and spoke; her voice was subdued, but plaintive with a need for someone to understand. "Mr. Roarke, I talked this over with my husband, in depth. He agreed that I needed to come here and do something about her too. We already tried one of those 'civilized' ways you mentioned—I filed a lawsuit shortly after she leaked the news about my daughters. But I lost, because the judge ruled that my career and reputation hadn't suffered noticeably as a result of Verdon's little bombshell. Most of the fee I got for my next role went to pay court costs. She got away with it, even though she had no right to jump in and tell the world my personal secrets."

"So you simply couldn't resist the opportunity when it came up," said Roarke. "Your husband is apparently well aware of your ability to hold a grudge." Toni blinked in astonishment and turned scarlet, but fell silent.

Elin Kristel Granath looked bitter. "I suppose you will tell me now that I have no chance of any sort of career in America because of my part in this fantasy…especially since I am the one who had the idea."

"That remains to be seen," said Roarke calmly. "It's up to you to decide whether to continue your efforts in that regard."

At that point Christian and Leslie came in, with the triplets in tow; Roarke glanced in their direction, and all five guests turned to look as well. They smiled a little and greeted the Enstads in soft voices; Christian and Leslie smiled and nodded back, but remained where they were. "Mr. Roarke," Christian said.

"Good morning," Roarke replied. "Christian, why don't you take the children upstairs while you wait for Haruko; Leslie, I'd like you to remain here." While Christian crossed the room with the triplets and Leslie stepped down to take up a post in front of the grandfather clock, Roarke turned back to their visitors. "Whatever the effect on your respective careers as a result of this incident, at the moment you have something more immediate to worry about. Ms. Verdon has announced that she fully intends to file suit against all five of you for damages—emotional trauma, verbal abuse, and assault and battery."


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- December 18, 2005

Toni and Elin Kristel sighed loudly; Marcolo rolled his eyes, and Karsten and Joy looked at each other and shook their heads. Leslie compressed her lips; it should have been obvious, she thought, that it would come down to this. "Only the five of us?" Marcolo asked then. "What of everyone else who participated? Granted, we five thought of this idea and worked together to execute it. But there were many others who either willingly helped us, or looked on and contributed their share of insults, or simply watched and cheered."

"Certainly no one tried to stop us," said Elin Kristel.

At that Roarke frowned and turned to Leslie. "What of you, young lady?" he asked sternly. "That's the very reason I sent you and Christian to the party in the first place."

Leslie frowned right back. "Before you or anyone else condemns me, Father, maybe you'd like to know that I had every intention of stopping it, or at least keeping it down to these five here." She explained how Katanga Jones and April Adams had bodily arrested her on her way to the DJ booth, and how they had refused to release her and that Kelly Smith had backed them up.

"Whoa," said Joy, staring at her. "Katanga Jones! And he's not somebody you go and mess with on purpose."

Roarke considered that for a moment, then nodded once and made a couple of phone calls, requesting that Katanga Jones and April Adams come to the main house. Meantime Haruko arrived, and Leslie caught her and asked her to send Christian down; she agreed and started across the room, her eyes on the five celebrities standing in front of Roarke's desk. Leslie watched with a faintly amused smile, expecting her to stop and ask at least one of them for an autograph; to her credit, in the end she didn't.

Christian came down only about half a minute before April Adams walked into the foyer, looking a little confused and slightly apprehensive at the same time. "Hi, Mr. Roarke," she said. "Is this about last night's party?"

"Indeed it is," Roarke said. "My daughter tells me you were one of those who prevented her from making an attempt to stop the assault on Barbara Verdon."

"Assault!" April echoed, staring at him in disbelief. "Mr. Roarke, these people didn't do anything Verdon didn't deserve in the first place. They didn't hit her or anything—never left a mark on her. So what's the big deal?"

"The 'big deal', Ms. Adams, is that Ms. Verdon plans to sue them," Roarke told her. "However, that's not your concern. Are you or are you not one of those who stopped Leslie in her intent to halt their scheme?"

"Yeah, I was," April said a little sullenly. "I suppose it was a dumb move in retrospect, but like I said, she deserved it. I don't think there was one person in that entire nightclub who hasn't had some stupid lie printed about him at some point because of her. Well, I mean, so far she hasn't written about me, but it's probably only a matter of time. And she's picked on just about everybody I know in the business, so I wanted to show my support."

Katanga Jones let himself in then, and everyone stared at him as he stepped into the room. He was an imposing presence indeed; he was actually a couple of inches taller than Christian, whose height was nothing to sneeze at, and he had well-developed muscles throughout his body. His coffee-colored skin gleamed gently; his sharp dark eyes raked over the group, without missing a thing. But his voice, expression and demeanor carried respect when he addressed their host. "What can I do for you, Mr. Roarke?"

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Jones," Roarke said with a nod. "I am told that you kept Leslie from ending the altercation our five guests here had with Barbara Verdon."

"I did," said Jones with a nod. He remained calm, his expression changing not a whit. "I have my reasons for it. I got a teenage daughter who reads every word Barbara Verdon puts out, and most of the time she believes it. She even believed it when Verdon printed a damn lie about me being spotted dealing drugs back when Alias Smith & Jones was big. I tell you what, Mr. Roarke, I've done some stupid things in my time, like anybody else. But I'm not the kind of imbecile who messes with narcotics, legal or not. My understanding is that Miss Foster here's going through the same thing now."

Joy gazed at him with a new respect. "As a matter of fact, I am," she said. "So you can see why we were driven to do what we did."

"You bet," said Jones and flashed her a grin, displaying gleaming white teeth. He looked at Roarke and suddenly chuckled. "Though I guess I gotta make an apology, even though I'm definitely on their side. Leslie, I'm sorry I stopped you from doing your job. Hope it's not getting you into trouble."

Startled, Leslie lost her power of speech and could only stutter, "Well…"

Roarke grinned, completing her discombobulation. "I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Jones, and I'm certain Leslie does as well."

Jones shrugged, looking sheepish, an expression strangely out of place on such a big, self-assured man. "Well, to tell you the truth, I probably wouldn't have if it weren't for her husband." He looked at Christian, whose surprise was sudden and nearly as complete as Leslie's. "Your Highness, I never thought there was anybody out there who could make me do anything I didn't want to. And I sure didn't want to let loose of your wife if it meant she could've stopped Verdon from getting what was coming to her. But all you had to do was give me and Miss Adams here one look, and that was enough."

Christian burst out laughing. "Mr. Jones, I have to admit, I wasn't at all sure I could get her away from you if it meant I had to face you physically. Thank fate it didn't come down to that. I appreciate your comments." He offered a hand, and a grinning Katanga Jones shook heartily.

"Katanga," April Adams said suddenly, "what's the story here? I thought this whole thing was about seeing Barbara Verdon getting what she deserves. Instead these people are being punished for what was purely a natural human reaction." She glared at Roarke. "You can't deny it, Mr. Roarke. Verdon's pushed everybody too far. You want the truth? I wish these folks had come looking for me and asked me to be part of this. I'd've been glad to."

Leslie cleared her throat, and everyone in the room looked at her. "You know…I've just been thinking. Father, where's Barbara Verdon now?"

"Resting in her bungalow," Roarke replied.

"Do you think you could have her come over here? I mean, if everybody in this room promises to behave him- or herself, and all parties agree to give the other side a chance to talk and that they'll really listen to each other…maybe we could have a productive dialogue here, and each side could address its respective grievances. You could be the neutral party."

Roarke regarded her for a moment or two, then nodded slowly. "An excellent idea, Leslie. Let me get in touch with Ms. Verdon now, and perhaps we can all arrive at a solution that will please everyone and cause the least amount of damage to people's feelings."

When Barbara Verdon walked in a little less than ten minutes later, she stopped short and gaped, first in astonishment and then in outrage as she recognized the collection of faces. "Have you all gathered here to attack me again?" she demanded haughtily.

"Please, Ms. Verdon, calm yourself," Roarke said, going over to meet her at the top of the steps into the study. "As a matter of fact, my guests would like to talk to you about last evening's…incident."

"_Incident,"_ Verdon sniffed, stepping into the room with her nose high enough in the air to make Leslie wonder that she didn't trip and land flat on her face. "Without a doubt, Mr. Roarke, the most disgraceful, shameful ordeal I've ever undergone in my life."

Katanga Jones spoke in a deceptively warm voice. "Lady—and I'm using that term loosely—lady, you haven't gone through anything worse than what you've put a bunch of us through, so maybe you better think before you speak."

Roarke cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, please, if I may. Ms. Verdon, you have been asked here by these very men and women to see if some manner of agreement can be reached. Their apologies for last night's incident…" He put just the slightest emphasis on the last word, and Leslie had to hide a smile. "…for your willingness to drop your lawsuit against them."

Verdon stared at him. "You're joking, aren't you?"

"I'm quite serious," Roarke assured her with a warm smile. "Quite serious indeed."

"This is an outrage," Verdon announced, raking the seated group with a disdainful glare. "I was thoroughly humiliated by five of you, and the rest of you cheered them on. Not a single person came to my aid." At that point she zeroed in on Leslie. "Particularly you, who should have been right there fending these people off in my behalf—after all, you're no less than Mr. Roarke's daughter and assistant, so you have twice the liability of any of them!"

"I was…" Leslie, struggling to keep her calm in the midst of her abrupt rise in temper, floundered for a word and finally came up with, "…unavoidably detained."

But then Christian spoke up, his voice icy-brittle. "You'll refrain from making any accusations to my wife, if you please. It just so happens that she did attempt to stop the altercation, except that she was prevented from doing so."

"Of course you'd say that—you're her husband," Verdon retorted.

"We stopped her," Katanga Jones said, indicating April Adams, "me and her. Make something of that if you can."

"And I'm sure she didn't try too hard to get away, did she?" sniped Verdon.

Roarke stood up again. "Ms. Verdon," he said pointedly, "this is meant to be a negotiation, a meeting of minds. You are twisting it into an attack on my daughter. This is not the place for personal grievances."

"Play fair…if you even know how," April Adams taunted.

"I don't know if this is going to work," said Toni Karlsen, sounding tired. "Every word out of her mouth is an insult, Mr. Roarke. She never says anything without being nasty to somebody. I'm afraid you're wasting everyone's time."

"You'd rather face a lawsuit than work it out?" Roarke asked.

"We'll have our day in court," Joy Foster said with a shrug. "Maybe then she'll be forced to listen to us without being allowed to shoot third-grade taunts at us. Sorry, Mr. Roarke, but thanks for trying." She arose, and the other six celebrities followed suit, all of them filing out of the house, grumbling quietly among themselves.

Christian got up as well, aware of Verdon's eyes following him. "Before she thinks of something else to falsely accuse me of, perhaps I'd better get to my office and try to make some progress on that website for my client. I'll see you and the children at lunch, my Rose." He kissed Leslie and nodded at Roarke. "Excuse me, please." Roarke nodded, and Christian departed, a cloak of cool dignity about him. Leslie watched him go, wishing she could be as poised and collected under stress.

"They just couldn't take it, could they," Verdon remarked with satisfaction. "I have the upper hand, and every one of them knows it. They won't be allowed to get away with what they did to me last night."

"While you are to be allowed to get away with constantly humiliating them and hurling false accusations and innuendo?" Roarke countered, strolling toward his desk while the gossip columnist watched. "I was not familiar with your columns or the content thereof, but it seems to me that Ms. Karlsen was correct several moments ago. Have you never had a kind word to say about anyone in your life, Ms. Verdon?"

"What are you talking about?" Verdon demanded.

"What drives you? What motivates you to write the things you do? Do you consider the impact of your words before you commit them to publication?" Roarke sat behind the desk and pinned her with the sharp, penetrating stare that Leslie had seen so many times in all the years since she'd first come to the island. "Let me give you an example. You have accused my son-in-law of having 'a woman in every port', as it were." He nodded at her startled look. "Oh yes, I saw that column. Has it ever occurred to you that the reason Christian spends so much time away when opening a new branch of his company is that he prefers to personally hire his own employees, rather than leaving it to a separate party? Believe me, Ms. Verdon, he works very hard at what he does; he is very dedicated, and he is determined to uphold the standard that he himself has developed over the years since he launched his business. That's why he's as successful as he is.

"Let's look at some of our other guests whom you are accusing. Ms. Foster is very upset with you, I'm sure you're aware. Did you ever bother to find out that she and her group were here nine years ago? At the time, it was her sister, Shara, who was addicted to black lightning. Since that time, the lady has gone through rehabilitation, and she has not touched the drug in all those years. Yet now you accuse Joy Foster of the very same problem her sister battled. Is this fact-based, or were you merely looking for a sensational headline in order to satisfy your readers?

"Prince Marcolo is quite young, and naturally he can expect to be seen dating many different women. His father, King Errico, hopes that one day he will marry; but as the prince told me himself, how is he to find the right woman without looking for her? He resents quite enough your suggestions that he's a playboy, but apparently you couldn't leave it at that; you had to posit the outrageous—and false—statement that he carries HIV." Roarke paused a moment, watching Verdon's slack-jawed face and seeing no change. "You must realize that your titillating rumors, created and published so casually, are causing a great deal of damage: personal hurt, downtrodden reputations, needless suspicion, career problems, even family problems. Do you enjoy inflicting such pain on others?"

"It's payback, Mr. Roarke," Verdon snapped suddenly, startling Leslie and making Roarke's brows reach for his hairline. "Payback for every miserable thing they've done to me. Payback for every time they snubbed me."

Leslie got up and approached Verdon, eyes fixed on her. "Since when did Christian and I personally snub you or do anything to you?"

"You're just like all the rest," Verdon lashed out at her. "Celebrities. You're all alike, the entire load of you. Just because you were fortunate enough to be born royalty, or to be a successful and glamorous movie star or TV personality or rock star, or author, or director, or painter, or businessperson. You think the money and luxuries you get from all that entitle you to look down your noses at everybody else—especially those of us who just want to try to talk to you, to get a little glimpse of your rarefied lives and share it with your fans. But you can't be bothered. 'Sorry, no comment.' 'No, I don't give interviews.' 'I'm busy, don't bother me.' From day one, mind you, day one…that's all I got from any of you snobs." She was now ranting at everyone and no one, all at once. "I wanted nothing more than to be a reporter—somebody who could be a bridge between the snobs and the common people. I just wanted to get an in on the lives of these famous folks so their fans would know a little more about them. I even thought I might be able to make some friends that way. But every single one of them just brushed me off as if I were nothing. Started out that way in life too, just so you know. My father was a drunk and my mother was a waitress, and she was always being snubbed by everyone she met too, just because of her choice of husband. She was the one who raised me, all by herself. But she got snubbed at work, and I got snubbed at school, and whenever either one of us had an opportunity to get a break, we were denied it. Rich people can't be bothered! So why should I show them any mercy?" This last question, she blasted directly at Leslie.

Leslie blinked at the unexpected onslaught, then shook her head. "All I can say is, with an attitude like that, I sure feel sorry for you. Excuse me, Father, I'd better check on the children." Roarke nodded once from his chair, watched her cross the room for just a moment without moving his head, then looked at Barbara Verdon.

"So you are saying that this is simple backlash?" he asked. At Verdon's emphatic bob of the head, he raised his eyebrows slightly, looking thoughtful, and focused on her again. "Because so many celebrities refused to accede to your requests—or were they demands, perhaps?—for their time, you've decided to paint all of them, whoever and wherever they are, with the same brush. Now, even those who have never so much as seen you in person are also expected to pay your self-imposed price for those early brush-offs? Christian and Leslie have never even had the opportunity to deny you a few minutes of their time, yet they are being made to pay for what others have done?"

Verdon stood in silence for a moment, looking just slightly chastened for the first time. But she stubbornly clung to her argument. "They'd have snubbed me if I'd asked. They're celebrities, Mr. Roarke. That's the way they are."

Roarke let out a small chuckle. "Christian's natural aversion to reporters notwithstanding, I daresay that your interviewing technique is largely responsible for the snubs you insist you continue to receive. No sooner do you ask a question than you interrupt the response with another question, designed to confuse and upset the target. Such a method is bound to put off even the most tolerant person, don't you think?"

Verdon gawked at him. "How do you know that's…who told you that?"

Roarke merely smiled. "Perhaps if you softened that technique considerably—ask the question, really listen to the entire answer, and then ask another, preferably neutral, question—you might find that your subjects are more open to giving you what you want."

"I doubt that. Did you hear April Adams a bit ago? I've never had the chance to talk to her, but there she was, treating me just the way all her famous friends do."

"You have a reputation, Ms. Verdon, or weren't you aware of that?" Roarke reminded her, with a trace of irony in his voice. "She felt she needed to stand up for her colleagues who have been targeted in your columns."

"Well, there you go," said Verdon, spreading out her hands. "Changing my interview style won't help. You say I have a reputation. Wouldn't that prevent me from getting anywhere the way you're suggesting I try doing?"

Roarke smiled again. "Perhaps if you begin with Christian, who I may add carries a fair amount of respect in the world of the rich and famous, you may get off to a good start towards changing that reputation."

"You're the one who just said something about his 'natural aversion' to reporters. If you really think I have a chance of changing the way the stars see me, and if you really think he's the one who can help with that, then you're going to have to talk him into letting me speak with him. Prince Christian's a hard nut to crack, I'm sure you know. He's notorious in journalistic circles for refusing to talk."

"That's merely because Christian, being royalty, has been in the limelight his entire life. For him, a private life is a hard-won luxury, which he has finally achieved to a certain degree here on Fantasy Island. However, if the cause is good, he has been known to speak with reporters he feels he can trust. I will intercede for you, yes—but you must promise to treat him with the respect he's due. Ask him a friendly question, allow him to answer fully, and don't interrupt him or create a touchy situation by making suggestive or threatening remarks. You may be very surprised at the easiness of your interview."

Verdon pondered the idea for a couple of minutes; overhead Roarke could faintly hear the laughter of his daughter and grandchildren as they played together, and suddenly had an idea that made him wonder why he hadn't thought of it before. By the time Verdon came back to the moment, he was smiling broadly.

"I'll do it, Mr. Roarke," she said, brightening as if in response to his expression. "When do you think I can speak with Prince Christian?"

"If you'll give me an hour, I believe I can make all the arrangements, and you need only return here to my study," Roarke said. Verdon nodded, and he smiled, arose and shook hands. "And now, if you'll kindly excuse me, I have some urgent business to conduct with a certain Mr. Claus. Please forgive my haste."

"Of course," Verdon agreed and started for the door, looking jubilant. Halfway up the steps into the foyer, she stopped and froze, gaping at the opposite wall. _"Claus?_ As in _Santa?"_ she asked aloud, and turned to pin Roarke down with this—but he had disappeared, as though he'd never been in the room in the first place. She sighed and mumbled, "I never did get this Fantasy Island anyway," and slowly left the house.

"I see you're all enjoying yourselves," remarked Roarke cheerfully, surprising Leslie and Haruko, who had been playing a rousing game of peek-a-boo with the triplets.

"Actually, we are," Leslie said, still grinning, falling back against the base of the sofa with Karina in her lap. "Haruko was just about to take them out for a romp in the yard."

"Do you think you might be able to postpone that for a moment?" Roarke asked. "I would like to borrow the children for just a little while, if I may."

Leslie and Haruko both looked blank; then suddenly Leslie's face acquired the bloom of realization, and she grinned broadly. "Ohhhh, I see what you want to do. Sure, go right ahead. Actually, Susanna just learned to say _Santa,_ so if you can get her to help you call for him, this time you just might get through."

"Oh, excellent, my child, thank you so much. I'll let you know the outcome." Roarke stooped a little as Susanna and Tobias scuttled forward for simultaneous hugs. "Hello there, little ones, would you like to help your poor grandfather with a stubborn problem?"

Leslie put Karina on her feet and watched the little girl follow her brother and sister over to their grandfather for her share of the attention. Roarke winked at Leslie, took Susanna's and Tobias' hands, urged Karina to hold onto his pants leg, and made his way toward the steps with the triplets.

All the while Haruko had been gaping, eyes and mouth a trio of matching circles; now she looked at Leslie and asked dazedly, "Is Mr. Roarke actually trying to call Santa Claus?"

Leslie smiled a little, got to her feet and extended a hand to help Haruko up. "I think Father's going to be a while. Have you been keeping in regular touch with Akima?"

For just a second Haruko looked totally blank; then she jolted off the floor. "Oh, yeah, Akima! Yeah, we talk every weekend." She slanted a look at Leslie over her shoulder. "Come on, Miss Leslie, is he really friends with Santa? 'Cause I've got a Christmas list of my own, you know."

Leslie snickered. "I bet you do, but you're just gonna have to mail a letter to the North Pole like anybody else. Come on, tell me what's new in the mermaid world these days."


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- December 18, 2005

Christian had managed to lose himself in the planning for his client's website in spite of his mood, so that when Julianne informed him he had a phone call, he was disappointed and deeply annoyed at the break in his concentration. "There are days when I wish this were the stereotypical deserted tropical island," he muttered, earning laughs from his employees. "All right, then, Julianne, give me a few seconds and I'll take it."

He let the few seconds elapse into almost thirty while he swiftly sketched out an idea he'd had before it slipped his mind; then he sighed and picked up his extension. "This is Christian, may I help you?"

"Was I interrupting you?" asked Roarke's voice.

"Would you like me to be honest, or pretend for you?" Christian countered.

His father-in-law laughed. "My apologies. However, I've called to ask a great favor of you. I've had a lengthy talk with Barbara Verdon since you departed here, and she would like an interview with you."

Instantly Christian was wary and a little resentful. "Mr. Roarke," he complained, "with all the famous people on this island right now, you called me to sacrifice myself?"

"I realize how it sounds," Roarke agreed. "But the lady has agreed to conduct the interview in a style much different from her usual one. Her questions will be less abrasive, she will let you reply in full, and she will not turn the questioning to dicey subjects."

Ever the skeptic, Christian asked, "Do you have that in writing?"

"Christian, Christian," Roarke admonished gently. "Where's your sense of fair play, hm? Ms. Verdon is willing to make the effort; can you not be generous enough to meet her halfway?"

Feeling grumpier than ever, Christian slumped in his chair and scowled at his notes and sketches. "I don't much appreciate the guilt trip, Mr. Roarke. As I pointed out just now, there must be any number of celebrities on this island at the moment who could be talked into this unsavory little task. So why am I the guinea pig?"

Roarke chuckled. "I see you're beginning to feel that, simply because you're married to my daughter, you must suffer certain unpleasant experiences for the sake of various of my guests." Christian snorted aloud, annoyed all over again at the accuracy of Roarke's guess, and he heard another soft laugh. "As a matter of fact, I chose you because you carry a particular clout in the journalistic world. The rarity with which you grant interviews makes you something of a prize, if you will. Furthermore, you enjoy respect amongst your fellow celebrities, be they on the stage or screen, behind the scenes, on fields or courts, or even other royalty. If Ms. Verdon's first obviously serious interview is with you, it's likelier that others will be more willing to follow your lead, and she will find herself able to conduct proper interviews, gain the 'window into the stars' lives' that she has admitted to always wanting to provide her readers, and improve her reputation. At the same time, it will eliminate one of the world's most notorious gossips."

Christian sighed deeply. "I must admit that what you say makes a lot of sense," he said grudgingly. "But I want to go on the record as stating that I'm still not sanguine about this. And I don't even know if I can find the time for her today. I have a website project I'm trying to complete the preliminaries for."

"Your client has other issues that demand his attention at the moment," said Roarke, making Christian wonder how he knew and then mentally scoff at himself for wondering at all. "The process should take no more than an hour, and you can get back to work."

Christian rolled his eyes, growled softly into the phone and asked, "Why can't you send Leslie out to talk someone else into it? I should think it would be perfect poetic justice to suggest that one of your five fantasizers do it. Or is there just too much bad blood?"

Roarke laughed at that and said, "Something like that, yes…" Then Christian heard a voice in the background, and frowned curiously just before Roarke said, "May I call you back, Christian? Something has come up."

"Of course," Christian agreed, and after Roarke had thanked him and hung up, he put his own phone down and leaned slowly back in his chair, shaking his head to himself just a little. He had the feeling of being shanghaied, and found himself hoping that whoever had interrupted Roarke's conversation with him just now would somehow make his father-in-law forget all about it. _Though I doubt it,_ he thought with a resigned little sigh, and picked up his notes and sketches again, trying to regain the rhythm of his concentration.

At the main house, Roarke replaced the phone and regarded Toni Karlsen, who was standing at the top of the steps into the foyer, looking grim but determined. "What can I do for you, Ms. Karlsen?" he inquired, gesturing the actress into the room.

She stepped slowly into the study and crossed the Persian rug to his desk with measured steps, as if she were about to face her own execution. "I overheard your phone call to Prince Christian," she explained. "I was going to come in and talk to you about Barbara Verdon's case—see if she's hired a lawyer yet and so forth." Roarke nodded, and Toni settled herself into one of the leather chairs, moving gingerly, as though she were in pain. "But then I heard you tell Prince Christian that Verdon agreed to carry out her interview in a less abrasive manner than she's known for." Toni leaned forward and stared anxiously at him. "Is that true? She said this to you personally?"

"Indeed she did," Roarke replied serenely, waiting.

Toni broke her gaze, sucked in a fortifying breath and twisted her fingers together in her lap. After about thirty seconds or so she looked up once more, started to speak and caught herself; then she scowled, squeezed her eyes shut and blurted all in one barely intelligible rush, "I'lldotheinterviewwithVerdonsoPrinceChristiandoesn'thaveto."

Roarke allowed himself one satisfied smile before schooling his expression, leaning forward and prodding gently, "I beg your pardon?"

Toni moaned as if in physical distress, but forced herself to repeat the sentence. "I'll do the interview." Her voice was hoarse and she cleared her throat, finally opening her eyes. "I know how much Prince Christian hates being interviewed—heck, everybody does. I heard enough of your phone conversation with him to realize that you were trying to talk him into being the sacrificial lamb for Verdon's first non-dirt-gathering interview. And when it started stretching out, I could see you were trying to budge an immovable object. So I figured I'd come in and volunteer, and put the prince out of his misery." Roarke thought Toni looked rather miserable herself, her whole demeanor a case study in depressed reluctance: her shoulders drooped, her head kept falling farther and farther forward, her fingers knotted themselves endlessly in her lap.

"I see," Roarke said.

His tone of voice seemed to encourage her, and she looked up with an almost childlike hope in her eyes. "Anyway," she said through a gusty exhalation, "I feel obligated. I was one of the guilty parties in what happened last night, and I suppose I'm just trying to make restitution." She poked out her lower lip in consternation for a second, then added, "Though I still feel as if she's getting away with murder, after the way she blabbed to the world about my daughters. Isn't there something I can do about that?"

"Why don't you merely ask her?" Roarke suggested. "Perhaps, once the interview has begun and the two of you have gained some sort of footing, you might put the question to her then and find out what she has to say."

Toni shrugged a little. "I guess that might work." She pulled in another breath, then faced Roarke squarely. "Okay, then, put me down for that interview. What time will it be, and where are we having it?"

"We can begin immediately if you wish." He saw the shock explode over Toni's face and paused in the act of reaching for the phone receiver. "Or would you prefer to wait?"

"I j-just didn't think you were prepared," Toni mumbled faintly, still staring at him but, he could tell, not really seeing him. After a second she breathed in deeply, blew it out and rolled her eyes. "Might as well get it over with. Maybe, Mr. Roarke, seeing how I feel about this, it might give you some idea of what she's usually like."

"The interview will be here in my office," Roarke assured her. "I will remain in case anything untoward should take place." He smiled with sympathy. "Even I will readily admit that Ms. Verdon is an unhappy woman…I might even go so far as to say 'bitter'. But if she is willing to overcome that bitterness in an attempt to make amends…"

Toni lifted a hand. "Pardon me, Mr. Roarke, but I understand what you're saying. As the adage goes, you're preaching to the choir. It's just not easy to trust her after all the years she's spent creating and spreading lies and gossip and rumors."

"I think you'll find that if you're both willing to make that leap of faith, you'll be rewarded handsomely," Roarke said and smiled again. "If you'll excuse me a moment…" He lifted the phone receiver and made a short call.

By the time Barbara Verdon came into the inner foyer, there were tea and shortbread cookies waiting on the low table near the steps; Toni sat in the loveseat with a cup cradled in both hands, and Roarke was seated at his desk, just winding up another call. He put the phone back and smiled at the newcomer. "Welcome, Ms. Verdon," he said. "Please, come in and take a seat, and help yourself to the refreshments."

Barbara Verdon peered at Toni, without moving from the spot. "I thought you said I'd be interviewing Prince Christian."

"He has other duties at the moment," said Roarke.

Verdon shrugged. "You mean he wouldn't do it," she said, with an odd resignation in her voice that was very unlike her. Roarke could see the great surprise on Toni's face at Verdon's uncharacteristic acceptance of what she considered to be Christian's refusal. He watched her regard Toni for a moment before she inquired, "How'd you convince Ms. Karlsen there to be the sacrificial lamb?"

"I volunteered," Toni said, in a tone that suggested she had long since begun to regret doing so. But she was rewarded with Verdon's astonished double-take and stunned look, for all of ten seconds, before Verdon recomposed herself, with noticeable effort.

"Well, I suppose if you're willing to go that far on my behalf, then I'll do my best," she said, finally going in and settling into a seat opposite Toni. She reached into a huge purse that hung off one shoulder and extracted a pad of paper and pen. "So…"

Toni put her teacup on the table and cleared her throat. "Before you start, I have a question for you." She waited till Verdon looked up, then demanded straight out, "Why on earth did you reveal the existence of my children when I wanted to keep them a secret?"

Roarke let himself settle back in his chair. It didn't surprise him in the slightest that the actress had gone ahead and fired off her question, without even waiting for the actual interview to get under way. Verdon looked at Toni in surprise for a minute or two, then frowned a little. "When did I do that?"

Toni's mouth fell open. "You can't even remember?"

"Well, I've reported a lot of scoops like that," said Verdon. "I imagine I did, but I just don't remember when it happened."

"Nineteen eighty-nine," Toni supplied, her voice clipped with disbelief and residual anger. "During the summer, just the time my film My Future Love premiered in L.A. Fewer than a dozen people on the planet had any idea I had daughters, and then the next morning, the entire world knew. And that was thanks, or no thanks, to your column in the _L.A. Times. Yours,_ Ms. Verdon. So why did you do it?"

The columnist seemed a little exasperated. "Good grief, hundred of other well-known performers have kids and don't mind that the world knows about them. What's your beef with it? Were you afraid people weren't going to find you as hot a commodity if they knew you were a mother?"

Toni glared at her. "No, that had nothing to do with it. They were only five years old, and my younger girl was very shy and sensitive. Furthermore, at the time, their father didn't yet know they existed—and I didn't want him finding out from some big-mouthed stranger through a sly newspaper column! Does that answer your question?"

Verdon squinted at Toni as if she didn't quite believe her, leaned forward and peered narrowly at her, then settled back and sighed. "So did he?"

Toni folded her arms over her chest and aimed a hooded look at Verdon. "No, not through your column—at least not directly. He was living in Japan at the time and didn't have a lot of contact with the outside world. It's a long story."

Clearly to the actress' enormous amazement, Verdon leaned forward, her face eager and hopeful, and requested, "Tell me about it."

"Tell you about it?" Toni echoed.

"Please. Sometimes you keep your private life a little too private. Even your fan-club newsletter sticks almost exclusively to your professional doings and achievements, and says next to nil about your husband, your children, what you like to do in your free time. It was only through a lot of investigation that we discovered that the mysterious young lady Prince Rudolf of Lilla Jordsö is about to marry is your youngest sister. So when you tell me your story, I'd also like to know what your thoughts are about having royalty for in-laws."

By the time she stopped talking Toni was actually grinning. "Well, to tell you the truth, it's kind of surreal. But wait till I tell you about how Michael discovered he was the father of twin girls. As I said, he'd been living in Japan, under the dictates of a really stern and old-fashioned grandmother, and…"

Roarke arose and quietly departed through the French shutters, without either of his guests noticing he had left. He had a few rounds to make, and he was confident that Barbara Verdon was well on her way to reinventing her professional identity. He smiled to himself, looking forward to the two or three slow weeks that lay ahead—time he used each year to rest a little, enjoy the winter holiday season, and consider what lay ahead.

‡ ‡ ‡

"Are you sure you have to do this right now?" Leslie asked, shortly after the evening meal had ended and Christian had returned to his office to finish up a last-minute project for one of the several dozen celebrities on the island this weekend. "Seems a little strange to me, and in another couple of hours it'll be the triplets' bedtime anyway."

"It was the only time he could get away," Roarke said. "Why don't you wash their hands and faces, perhaps change them into more suitable clothing if you like, and by the time you return, he will be here."

"They'll be in their pajamas actually," Leslie remarked with a faint grin. "But if it makes you feel any better, they're Christmas pajamas." Roarke shot her a look, and she giggled and gently herded the triplets up the stairs ahead of her, encouraging them along as they conquered one step at a time. It was enough of a project getting them changed and cleaning the remnants of their supper off their hands and faces that by the time she did get back downstairs with them, fifteen minutes had passed and Roarke had company. "Well, Merry Christmas," she said with a grin.

Santa Claus, who had removed the jacket and hat of his famous red suit and was mopping his brow with a huge green handkerchief, turned to see who was talking and lit up like a nova at sight of the triplets. "I was hoping I might get to meet these little ones!" he exclaimed, taking one of the leather chairs at Roarke's desk and beaming at the triplets. All three children were staring big-eyed at the brightly clad stranger, but none of them made any move away from their mother. "They're beautiful children, Leslie. Roarke, you should be proud, you have three adorable little ones to spoil here."

"Yes, I must admit, they bring a great deal of joy and liveliness into my daily existence on this island," Roarke agreed, chuckling.

Tobias pointed at Santa. "Dat, Ap-pa?" This was his word for _Grandfather;_ so far he was the only one who called Roarke by any sort of name, though all three triplets loved being with him just as much as with their parents.

Roarke grinned at his grandson. "This is Santa Claus, Tobias. And he would like to know what you want for Christmas this year."

Tobias looked a little confused, but when he looked back at Santa, the jolly old man was displaying a shiny silver jingle bell, about the size of a golf ball, at him. "Look here, Tobias, this is for you!"

Tobias' eyes widened and his face lit up; then he twisted his head back so that he was peering at Leslie over one shoulder. "Dat, Mommy?"

"That's a bell, sweetie," she told him. "Santa said you can have it."

"Ohhh," the little boy breathed in amazement and ventured forward to take the bell from Santa's hand. He turned it over in his hand and began to examine it; the clapper within clinked as it rolled with Tobias' movements, and he stopped to listen, then frowned and resumed his inspection of the little ornament. Susanna decided at that point that she was tired of watching her brother have all the fun and reached out to take the bell from him; Tobias saw her coming and snatched his hand away, barking, "Mine!"

The adults all laughed. Santa produced another jingle bell and presented it at Susanna, who eagerly took it from him. "Say thank you, both of you," Leslie said, speaking to Susanna and Tobias while Karina hung back, still assessing the stranger. The two children looked up once, without a word, but Santa grinned and assured Leslie it was all right.

Then he held a third bell out to Karina. "This one's yours, precious girl."

Karina blinked and then popped her thumb into her mouth, huddling against Leslie. Again the adults laughed and Leslie reached out to accept the jingle bell on Karina's behalf, showing it to the little girl before slipping it into her pocket. Just about then Susanna discovered what her bell was really capable of, and now stood holding it between her thumb and two fingers, shaking for all she was worth and filling the study with tinkling. Tobias stared at her, brightened again and added his efforts to his sister's, changing the tinkling into jangling. Santa grinned, Roarke shook his head in amusement, and Leslie cast her father a sheepish, apologetic look.

Someone knocked on the door at that point and Roarke arose. "Excuse me just one moment," he said and went to answer it. Santa had already started working his charm on Karina, and when Roarke came back with three more guests, the little girl was giggling at Santa's antics, even though she still had her thumb in her mouth. Tobias and Susanna were still energetically ringing their bells; but when Roarke put a finger to his lips, dark eyes fixed on his grandchildren and wide with whimsical conspiracy, they grew quiet and scooted back to cling to Leslie, watching the newest arrivals with wary curiosity.

The newcomers, Leslie saw, were a married couple and a girl about eight years old, with thin blonde hair that ended in wisps about halfway down her back and green eyes that looked too big for her thin, pointed face. The girl gasped aloud and burst out, "Oh, Mr. Roarke, you really did it! It's really Santa, isn't it?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," groaned the woman, clearly the child's mother. "Mr. Roarke, I thought we discussed this yesterday morning when you came to talk to us. You were going to prove to my daughter that there's no such person as Santa Claus."

Santa stood up and leveled a stern stare at her. "Linda Joanne Wellman Eccles, you should be ashamed of yourself. After I brought you that Baby Alive you kept begging your parents for—not to mention wrote me _three_ letters about—back in 1972!" He turned to Roarke, oblivious to Mrs. Eccles' shocked stare, and complained irritably, "I used to get this all the time. Now you know why I didn't want to answer your calls, Roarke. The skeptics come out every year and their ranks grow all the time."

The girl gasped again, this time with alarm. "Not me, Santa, not me, I promise! I still believe. That's why I made my parents bring me here. I knew Mr. Roarke'd be able to help. Mr. Roarke can do anything—that's what those travel brochures say. So I figured maybe he was a friend of yours. I had to prove to Mom and Dad that you're real and you always will be. And I'll never, ever forget this weekend, Santa, honest."

Santa softened and warmed as he watched the eager child. "Well, well. Heidi Lynne Eccles. I know you've been a good girl this year."

Heidi nodded eagerly. "I tried real hard." She bit her lip, looking suddenly embarrassed. "Um, well, there _was_ that time when Logan Barclay threw eggs and squirted paint on me when I was riding my bike past his house, and I stopped and threw that rock at him to get him back…"

"It missed, dear," Santa said consolingly, "and I knew you were sorry you did it afterwards." Heidi nodded vigorously, and he grinned. "Besides, that kid's on the naughty list, and he's getting charcoal in his stocking this year."

"Charcoal?" said Sam Eccles in surprise, apparently unable to help himself. "I thought it was supposed to be lumps of coal."

"No one uses coal for burning these days," Santa said, "but people still have backyard grills, don't they? At least I can give the kid something his parents can use next summer."

"Guess so," said Eccles, looking a little bemused, but overall taking it far better than his wife was. Her face was still slack with shock.

"So tell me, Heidi, what would you like for Christmas this year?" Santa inquired.

Heidi hesitated, cast a glance at her parents and then at Roarke, and finally came right up to Santa and beckoned at him. He bent down, and she whispered in his ear, cupping her hands around her mouth so no one else could hear. Santa listened closely, nodded when she finished, and straightened up. "I'll do that, dear, I promise you."

Heidi beamed. "Thank you, Santa, thank you, thank you! I wrote you a letter and you'll probably find it when you get back to the North Pole, but I just wanted to tell you in person what I wanted. Just once, you know?"

"I know. Well, I don't mean to slight you—never that, you know. But I have a frightful amount of work to be done, and I'd best get back to it if I expect to get everything delivered on time come next Saturday night. So, Roarke…is there anything else, as long as I'm standing here?"

"No, that will be all—and I deeply appreciate your taking time out of your busy schedule to come and respond to Miss Eccles."

"No trouble at all, Roarke, not a bit. Besides, I got a chance to meet your grandchildren, and that was a nice little bonus. You three be good, now…and that goes for you too." Santa playfully shook a finger at Leslie, who giggled, and then focused on something behind her. "Not to mention you, young man. I don't want you teasing your sister about that pet project of hers, you understand?"

Leslie and Roarke looked around and saw Christian standing framed in the French shutters, his face frozen into a weird mix of emotions, chief of which appeared to be stupefaction. He made an inarticulate noise, which seemed to satisfy Santa. "Good. Otherwise I won't bring you those nifty little computer gadgets you've been hoping to get." Leaving the dumbfounded prince gaping motionlessly, Santa reached across the desk to shake hands with Roarke. "I've _really_ got to get going now, the missus will be on my case if I don't. Merry Christmas, Roarke, and the best of New Years to you come 2006. And Heidi, don't forget to leave me some milk and cookies, you hear, now?"

"I won't, I promise!" Heidi said happily.

"Um…Mr. Claus?" This came from Linda Eccles, arresting Santa in mid-stride. "I just wanted to…uh…I mean…I know I'm over thirty years late saying this, but…" She turned scarlet. "Th-thank you for my Baby Alive."

Santa grinned. "No thanks is ever too late, Linda dear. Well, all, Merry Christmas!" Leaving behind his trademark hearty _ho-ho-ho!_ and startling the triplets a bit with the boom of the sound, he exited the house.

Heidi bounced excitedly on her feet when he was gone, bubbling over at her parents. "I told you, I told you he's real, didn't I! I told you all the time and you didn't listen! I told you!" She pirouetted on one foot to beam at Roarke. "Gosh, thank you, Mr. Roarke, you did it, you really made my fantasy come true!"

Roarke grinned. "We aim to please," he said whimsically. "Mr. and Mrs. Eccles, may I get you anything? You look a little startled."

"Can you blame us?" Sam Eccles asked, though he was grinning sheepishly. "We're fine, Mr. Roarke, thanks. I guess we're just a little bit, well, bowled over. Poor Linda. It's gonna take her till the end of January to recover from this one. Thanks for indulging our daughter, anyway."

"Ah, it was no indulgence, Mr. Eccles," Roarke said, smiling. "She merely had something to prove, and I believe she succeeded."

"All too well," murmured Linda Eccles. "I guess from now on I'll think twice about scoffing at things I've grown to believe didn't exist. Oh dear, I hope the tooth fairy doesn't take revenge on me for that silly remark I made last September when Heidi lost that molar…" So saying, she wandered out, followed by a chuckling Sam Eccles and their still-exuberant daughter. When the door closed, Leslie laughed, kneeling to gather the triplets into a group embrace while Christian ventured hesitantly into the room.

"It's a shame they won't remember this, Father," she said a little wistfully.

"Perhaps it will happen again one day when their memories are better developed," Roarke said with a smile. "I suspect Mr. Claus will want to keep track of them as they grow up. And as for you, Christian…are you all right?"

Christian gave him a look that suggested he thought Roarke had finally lost his mind and eyed Leslie. "Now you're going to tell me that was really Santa Claus, aren't you?"

"Well, it was," she said, shrugging. "You saw him yourself."

"That may be…but I can't understand what he wanted with me. In Lilla Jordsö our version of Santa is _Julanissa_—and that's a woman!"

Roarke and Leslie burst into laughter, inspiring the triplets into giggles. "Perhaps before you leave, I can get in touch with _Julanissa,"_ Roarke offered.

"_Herregud,_ Mr. Roarke, thanks but no thanks. One superhuman entity is about all I can handle per year," said Christian dryly. "While I'm standing here, and before I forget, I wanted to thank you for letting me know that Toni Karlsen rescued me from having to be the testing grounds for Barbara Verdon's alleged new reporting technique. Well, my Rose, are they ready for bed?"

"Yep, all we have to do is get their teeth brushed and change them if they need it, and they'll be set to go." She stood up and grinned at him. "Boy, it's too bad we can't tell your family about this experience when we get to the castle. Anna-Laura'll wonder when the UFO landed and performed the body-snatching trick when you don't tease her."

"Oh, we'll see about that. If Santa Claus has _Julanissa_'s ear, _then_ I'll believe." Christian took Karina's and Susanna's hands and started for the stairs, ignoring Roarke's hearty chuckling. _"I ödets namn,_ what a weekend."

§ § § -- December 19, 2005

Toni Karlsen and Joy Foster were staying on the island an extra day or two, but Elin Kristel Granath, Karsten Henning and Prince Marcolo met Roarke and Leslie at the plane dock the following morning. "I never thought it would happen, not even when Toni told us about it at dinner last night," Karsten remarked. "But I guess Barbara Verdon has really changed her ways after all."

"Has she?" Leslie asked with interest.

"Look at this." Karsten handed her a copy of that morning's _Fantasy Island Chronicle_, opened to the Humanities page, which had reprinted the _L.A. Times_' edition of Verdon's regular column. "You'll see where I marked the page here." Leslie read the paragraph in question, which was a statement to the effect that Joy Foster's rumored drug addiction, Karsten's obsession with a long-past love, Elin Kristel's desertion of family for career, and Prince Marcolo's infection with HIV were false and fabricated allegations. Concluding the paragraph was an apology.

"I had to read that three times before I believed it," Marcolo admitted with a reluctant smile. "I even asked Miss Granath here to pinch me so that I knew I was not dreaming."

"I had to pinch myself after I did that," Elin Kristel added, and they all laughed.

"So leopards sometimes do change their spots," Leslie said.

"Indeed," Roarke said, smiling. "She has also agreed to drop the lawsuit, and asked me to wish all of you a merry Christmas. Goodwill toward men, you see."

Their guests grinned. "Merry Christmas," they chorused and headed for the plane together. Karsten tossed the words "And thank you!" over his shoulder, making Leslie laugh and Roarke chuckle as they waved back.

Having seen Sam, Linda and Heidi Eccles onto the plane as well, they climbed back into the car for the ride back to the main house, where Christian waited with the triplets for the journey home. Roarke ushered them up the veranda steps. "Before you go, I should give you the message I received just this morning before I met you and the children for breakfast. Leslie, you may need to stay longer in New England with Christian than you planned."

"Why?" she asked.

"The message is from your birthplace of Plainville, Connecticut," Roarke told her, watching her face go slack. "And I believe that once you hear what it has to say, you'll wish to attend to it as soon as you possibly can."

* * *

_What's awaiting Leslie in Connecticut? Answers in the next story, plus a bit more backstory…_


End file.
